


Wildcard (A.H. x Reader x S.R.)

by mitchmatch24



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Bondage, Bottom Spencer Reid, Canon Typical Violence, Choking, Criminal Minds Freeform, Degradation, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominate Aaron Hotchner, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Knife Play, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Role Reversal, Self-Insert, Sensation Play, Sir Kink, Smut, Spanking, Switch Reader, Switch Spencer Reid, The BAU Team Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Aaron Hotchner, Top Spencer Reid, Voyeurism, bisexual reader, bottom reader, brat reader, brat taming, but they are going to hell, but yeah, dont worry about that, hahaha what have I done, male reader - Freeform, there will be a plot, this is going to be fun for the author, top reader, work place relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchmatch24/pseuds/mitchmatch24
Summary: Y/n Y//l/n, a young technical analyst for the FBI fills in for another analyst who's on leave. The witty, charismatic genius on the team loves him... the stoic, no nonsense unit chief, not so much. Both, however, find themselves in the middle of an adventure, filled with wild twists and turn all revolving around the analyst... both of them thought he was quite the wildcard.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid/Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 88





	1. The New Kid on the Block

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHAHA YEAH. I'M STARTING ANOTHER FIC. IDK WHY BUT I JUST WANT TO GIVE THREESOMES AND SHIT A SHOT. WOO HOO. GO ME. 
> 
> Anyways. This will also be posted on Wattpad (mitchmatch24, same username and the fic name is the same) if you prefer reading there. 
> 
> This is going to be messy and smutty and shit, so strap the FUCK IN. 
> 
> Enjoy ;)

**_“You wanna play with fire,_ **  
**_Stick and poke tattoos,_ **  
**_You wanna play my new girl,_ **  
**_I wanna play with you…”_ **  
**_-New Girl – Finneas_ **

The insistent chirping of your alarm made you groan, the urge to ignore it becoming hard to resist as you tried to shake off sleep. You outstretched an arm behind you, blindly searching for your phone on the bedside table. You snatch it up, accepting the call and lifting it to your ear, answering with a brief “y/l/n.”

“Agent y/l/n, this is Aaron Hotchner with the behavioral analysis unit,” the deep voice on the other end of the line said.

You roll over, flicking your bedside lamp on and blinking rapidly at the sudden intrusion of light. You read your alarm clock, scowling when you read _2:27am._ You roll your eyes, sighing. “And why are you, agent Aaron Hotchner, calling me at 2 in the morning? Please, get to the point or let me go back to bed,” you mutter, feeling exhausted and not in the mood to deal with anyone, especially at work. You just wanted to go back to sleep and forget about the real world for a few hours. You were a technical analyst, often for the crimes against children unit, which could be rough at times. The last case you came off of had been terrible, three children dying and joining 13 other victims by the time the case ended.

“Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, is currently on leave and we have a new case. We need you to fill in as her replacement. We need you in the BAU as soon as possible,” Hotchner explained.

You let out a deep exhalation, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alright. I will be there in 20 minutes. Anything else, boss man, or can I hang up now?” you ask, feeling pissy. Incredibly pissy, at that.

“That’s all, agent y/l/n.” And with that you hung up, not bothering with pleasantries. No point. You had to go into work, work with a different unit might you add, at 2 in the damn morning. Fucking wonderful. Fucking amazing! So fucking awesome.

You roll out of bed in a huff, walking over to your closet and opening it, flicking the light on and looking at the array of clothes inside. You opt for black jeans and a navy-blue polo, taking out a worn denim jacket to throw over it. It was December and that meant it was cold in D.C. Very cold. You throw your clothes on, making your way over to your bathroom and stepping inside. You take a piss, brush your teeth and comb your hair in quick succession, stopping to look at yourself in the mirror for a split second, preparing to meet a new team and help them solve their case. While you weren’t anti-social, you weren’t a social butterfly, either. People thought you were arrogant, rude, and off putting. You weren’t that bad. People just didn’t stick around long enough to find out usually.

You walk out and gather your things, making sure you have everything before grabbing your backpack, which contained your laptop as well as other work essentials you always took with you to and from the office. A black cat rubs against your legs as you sling the bag over your shoulder, drawing your attention. “Hi, Luna. I have to go to work. I’ll get Mrs. Norris from across the hall to take care of you while I work,” you say to the small cat, acting as though she could understand what you were saying. That cat allowed you to keep your sanity most days. She was two years old and incredibly cuddly, which you needed sometimes, especially given your job and all the gruesome things it entailed.

You grabbed your keys off a table by your front door, stepping out of your apartment and locking the door behind you. You take the stairs down to the lobby, walking out into the crisp December air and taking a deep breath. You walk down the block to the metro station, getting on a train and leaning against a handrail as you stood, closing your eyes for a moment. A robotic voice announced your stop and you got off, walking briskly to your destination. The FBI academy.

You make your way inside, saying him to the guy at the security turn styles and getting through security, You unzip a side pocket of your backpack, taking out your nametag and ID, clipping it to one of the loops of your jeans and walking to the elevators. You hit the button and wait, cursing everything and everyone for making you come into work this early. You step into the car and press the number for the BAU’s floor, riding up in silence, the only person in the car being yourself. You step out into a busy intersection between hallways, glass double doors with the seal of the behavioral analysis unit printed on them. You swallow and then step out of the elevator, strolling to the doors and pulling them open, stepping into the chaotic bullpen.

Was it always this busy? It was almost three in the morning. Jesus. You walked pass the chaos, striding up a small set of stairs and reading the office doors, finding agent Hotchner’s and knocking loudly. “Come in,” the deep voice said, beckoning you inside. You open the door, stepping inside and walking over to the man behind the cluttered mahogany desk. The office was organized and neat, the messiest thing being the desktop which was covered in files and papers. There was a bookshelf behind the desk, books about law and psychology stacked neatly on the shelves. Nothing was out of it’s place. Everything had a place and purpose about it.

You meet the eyes of agent Aaron Hotchner, suppressing a smirk when you finally laid eyes upon the man. He was six foot one, tan with dark dustings of hair on what little of his arms you could see, his frame broad and strong, demonstrating power and dominance. He had dark, raven color hair, his eyes the color of dark chocolate. He screamed alpha male and dominate persona. His voice was deep and smooth when he spoke to you next, “you must be agent y/n y/l/n.”

You nod, extending a hand for a handshake, “that would be me, agent Hotchner. What do we have tonight, or rather, this morning? I hope it couldn’t have waited until later; I was in the middle of some much-needed sleep.”

Hotchner remains stoic and hard, his rigidness telling you he wasn’t a fan of your comment. You didn’t care. He could deal with it. He had dragged you out of bed and back to this god forsaken building at 2 in the morning. “If you follow me to the conference room, you can be briefed with the rest of my team, who are waiting,” he explained, feigning professionalism and impassivity.

You nod and take a step back, motioning towards the door. “Lead the way, agent Hotchner.”

Hotchner stepped out from behind his desk, leading the way out of his office and towards the conference room, a group of people already gathered around the table. “Team, this is agent y/n y/l/n, he’ll be filling in for Garcia for this case while she’s on leave. JJ, what have we got?” Hotchner said, practically waving off your entire existence and moving on with ease. You eye him warily and then take a seat next to a tall, lanky man who was giving you an awkward smile. He was taller, lanky, and pale, with caramel irises that brimmed with sparks of interest and curiosity. His hair was golden brown and while it was short, it was messy and shaggy. You unzipped your backpack and took out your laptop, logging in and accessing the files they were about to brief on.

“We have four raped and strangled teenagers, all from middle class suburban families in Nashville, Tennessee. Apparently, they snuck out, went to a party, never came home. Jackie Suthers, 17. Christine Wakeland 17. Amanda Carlson, 16. Maya Westbrook, 16,” the blonde explained, clicking a remote and showing pictures of each of the girls. You opened your open digital copy of the photos, brows raising when you found extremely gruesome crime scenes. You had seen things this bad before, but not often. Your teams usually worked with living victims, not dead ones.

“They were all dumped around churches, so that could mean religious significance. Another classmate or some sort of authority figure punishing the girls for perceived wrong doings,” an African American man postulated.

The lanky man next to you threw in the next piece of information, “the M.E. reported a fracture on the back of the skull. The unsub is using blitz attacks, more than likely luring his victims and then surprising them when their backs are turned.”

“Is he blitz attacking because he wants to subdue them in the moment or because he needs to take them somewhere else?” an older man asked. You knew who he was. He was David Rossi, a very famous author and one of the founding members of the BAU.

Hotchner interjected, “we’ll find out when we get to Nashville. Wheels up in 30.” Hotchner walked out of the room briskly, making you quirk a brow suspiciously. The others started gathering their things, but stuck around, seemingly waiting for you.

“So… is anyone going to introduce themselves or are we going to stare at each other all night long?” you asked sarcastically, making the African American man grin. He extended his hand.

“Derek Morgan.”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

Another stepped up, extending her hand and smiling, “Emily Prentiss. Garcia has talked about you. Said you would be a good replacement while she’s out at the moment.”

You smirk, shaking her hand. “That’s good. Agent Hotchner didn’t seem too impressed when he called me this morning. What’s his deal, anyway?”

“Hotch? He’s just overly professional. He’s not that bad once he gets used to you,” the blonde said, waving you off. You just nodded, giving that some thought and letting a plan formulate in your head. Might as well drive him off the wall before you left their team and went back to your own unit. The lanky man gave you a wave and a smile. You figured he didn’t shake. That was fine.

“Y/n Y/l/n. And you are…” you pondered, waiting for a name.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he said. Damn. He must be smart.

“Doctor, huh? What are you, a genius or something?” you ask, furrowing your brow in interest.

“I.Q. isn’t something that indicates quantifiable intelligence, but I do have an I.Q. of 187 and an eidetic memory, so that helps,” Reid said, hints of pride in his tone.

You grin, cocking your head to the side, “interesting. Well, genius, hopefully you can do something genius like, and we’ll get our bad guy.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, grinning himself.

“Maybe,” you shrug, packing up your things to make your way to your office. It would be easier setting up in their rather than Garcia’s office. You also knew how shitty it was when someone messed with your setup and you didn’t want to be that guy. Before you could exit the conference room, the blonde stepped into your path, making you stop. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologize, holding your hand out, “y/n y/l/n.”

“Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ. And don’t worry about Hotch. Seriously. He’s just had a rough couple of years and sometimes his stoic demeanor gets the better of him.”

You wave her off, smiling to yourself, “I didn’t plan on it. He can get over himself on one case.” JJ raised her brows and clearly thought something about that but didn’t say anything. You knew what she was thinking. She was thinking you were crazy for wanting to step to Hotchner. He was a man of perfect control and order and you could easily fuck that up for him. You could drive him up the wall. You were the wildcard in this equation. You had no idea what the fallout would be but it probably wouldn’t be too bad. Nothing that could get you fired. It would simply be you being yourself and if he had a problem with that, he could talk to Katie Cole. Your unit chief.

* * *

You got onto a video call, thinking that it was odd that they did briefings twice, but you rolled with it. Their departure had given you time to start background checks and check different sets of records. You through your headset on, letting you field calls without having to pick up a receiver.

“Y/l/n, what have you found?” Hotchner asked expectantly.

You recoil a bit, scowling at the webcam but jumping in headfirst. “Well, since you asked so nicely Agent Hotchner,” you say, rolling your eyes and listening to the others trying to stifle laughter, “I have yet to find much of anything, but how much trouble can you get in when you live in Tennessee? I’m still accessing records for all the girls and their families, but as of right now, I don’t have much for you.”

“Then what _do_ you have?” Hotchner snapped, making you suppress the urge to smirk arrogantly. You were already pissing him off and you loved it. You didn’t really know what the end goal was in pissing him off, besides pissing him off, but whatever.

“I _have_ a list of vandalism charges against your last victim. Maya Westbrook was arrested two months ago for breaking a window with a chair at school. Amanda Carlson was facing possible expulsion for drug use, apparently. Tried to sell at school but got caught. Who the fuck sells weed during the middle of their lunch period with SROs around? Teenagers…” you ramble, sighing as you looked up at the camera and camera feed.

Hotchner glared, making you simply raise a brow as if challenging him to open his mouth and voice his distaste at whatever you had said or done. “Language, please, y/l/n. We like keeping things professional,” Hotchner admonished. You let out a small chuckle and just nodded, giving him a small thumbs up as if you were mocking him by actively withholding a verbal response or apology.

“Anything else, Agent Hotchner? Or am I free to continue working while you figure out how to directly voice your distaste of me?” you ask, openly smirking now. His glare got colder, a snarl playing on his lips as he no doubt reigned in his temper. You heard stunned scoffs and some giggles escape the rest of the team. Even Rossi was trying not to laugh openly.

“That’s all,” he seethed, his voice razor sharp. You were already succeeding in your goal.

This was going to be fun.


	2. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We both know you aren't going to say no..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp... sorry it took so long. It's 5348 words tho so there's a reason for it. Enjoy ;)

_**“If there’s no one to blame, blame it on me.** _   
_**Storm in the sky,** _   
_**Fire in the street,** _   
_**If there’s nothin’ but pain, put it on me…”** _   
_**-Put It On Me – Matt Maeson** _

* * *

You click off the call quickly, letting out a roar of laughter at Hotchner’s facial expression when you hit him with that last comment. It was hard not to laugh. The man was so rigid and professional and domineering that he couldn’t even take small hits. He was already losing it. _Already._ You felt a warm tear slide down your cheek from how hard you had laughed, your finger coming up and wiping it away. You take in a deep breath, trying to quash the rest of your hilarious amusement and get back to work. You pull yourself back towards your desk, going to work and typing away, searching through records to catch your unsub.

* * *

  
The ringing of the phone in the headset in your ear pulls you away from the computer screen. You smack the button to answer the call on your phone, answering with a “yes?”

Derek’s voice comes through the other end, although he sounded exhausted and kind of frustrated. “Hey baby girl. Please give me some good news,” he greeted, making you bite your bottom lip to contain your laughter. You were definitely not Garcia.

“Well, I can give you good news, but I am not your baby girl. Sorry Derek. I can call you Derek, right?” you greet, your tone thoroughly amused.

“Oh, shit. My bad man. I forgot Garcia was out and I am exhausted. Thanks for putting Hotch in such a bad mood, by the way,” Derek retorted, although he was also very amused. This team probably didn’t see people push Hotchner’s buttons very often. While Hotchner was probably pissed off now, you knew the rest of the team was enjoying how you were getting under his skin. They found it to be funny and that made it even more worth it to you.

“I apologize for making your lives harder but not for pissing him off,” you snort, making Derek chuckle.

“Got a bone to pick, huh?” Derek mused.

“Hey, man. He called me at two in morning. This is what he gets,” you say, throwing your hands up.

“Ah, so that’s what it is,” Derek laughed, “alright, man, what news do you have for me? Hit me with it.”

You crack your knuckles emphatically, “alright, you asked me to narrow down a list of people with in a fifteen mile radius of all the crime scenes that fit the description of white male, 30-40s, with religious backgrounds, and some sort of stressor. I have four names for you that fit that description. I have a Patrick Evans, 33. Lawrence Ashley, 35. Lewis Seymour 37. And finally, Frank Ryland, 41. I have already sent you their records, addresses, and employers.”

Derek whistled, making you grin. “Good job, kid. I’m gonna put you on speaker real fast,” Derek announced. A second later you heard other people in the room and Derek was updating them on everything you had told him. “Y/l/n has four names for us. Anyway, we could narrow this down further?”

“Hey Y/n?” Spencer asked.

“Hey genius?” you replied back.

“Do any of the names have previous criminal records or anything on their record involving sexual assault, assaulting a minor, rape… anything? The case probably would have been dropped,” Spencer said, rapid fire. You narrowed the list down, coming up with two names now.

“We have Frank Ryland and Lawrence Ashley. Anything else I can narrow it down with?” you ask.

“What about formal work complaints? They would rant about religion and take specific interest in teenage girls and people would notice that,” Spencer suggested.

“Frank Ryland, 1337 Ravenbrook Avenue,” you say, knowing they’ve caught their unsub.

“Good work y/n, we’ll call you later,” Spencer announced, and the line went dead.

* * *

  
A few hours later you were leaning against Spencer Reid’s desk, looking down at your watch that told you they would be arriving any second now. As if on que, the elevator doors opened and the entire team stepped out, talking among one another. Everyone but Hotchner grinned as they saw you leaning against Spencer’s desk. Derek approached you first, slapping you on the back and grinning. “You did pretty well for being a fill-in, kid. Job well done thanks to you,” Derek commended, making your own grin widen.

You waved him off, “well, Spencer here helped too. Couldn’t have narrowed our lists down without his suggestions and geographical profile.” Spencer’s cheeks tinged pink at the compliment and your grin turned slightly feral. “I owe him a ‘job well done’ coffee, so if anyone knows how he takes it then I would appreciate that knowledge,” you say, making him blush harder.

Hotchner interjected, a cold look on his face, “do that on your own time. I need your report by tonight, y/l/n.”

You scowl, your mood souring in an instant. “Why tonight? I see no need to rush it right now. I can give it to you tomorrow evening after I go home and get some sleep,” you complain, stepping to him without any hesitation.

Hotchner turned around, taking a step towards you. You didn’t move nor did you look away. You weren’t scared of the man. The report could wait, and everyone knew it. He wouldn’t even have to deal with you tomorrow evening when you came and gave it to him. It would be a one-minute interaction at the most. “I don’t know how they do things in crimes against children, but here what I say goes. The report will be done tonight. The quicker you get it done, the quicker you can leave. Do you understand that, y/l/n, or must I explain further?” Hotchner sneered.

“You’ve made yourself crystal clear, Agent Hotchner. If you’ll excuse me while I write my report,” you practically bark out, making everyone avoid both your eyes and Hotchner’s. You stride out of the bullpen and into the elevator to go to your floor on the floor below. When you get there you slam the door, frustration building inside you. You sat down and got to work, working diligently. You made quick work of the report, mostly because you weren’t the most descriptive of the events. That was Hotchner’s problem. You hit print, letting out a deep breath as the papers printed. It had taken you an hour and a half, even when you rushed through it. This case was long and needed more explanation than most cases.

You snatched the paper from the printer, inserting it into your copy of the case file and then picking up your backpack, making sure you had everything as you shut the office down for the night. You rode up the elevator, surprised to find the bullpen completely empty, besides Hotchner’s office. You sighed, making your way up the small set of stairs and to the door, knocking on it as you leaned in the doorway. “Come in.”

You came in, holding the case file up as you waited for the man to look up from his work. “Close the door.” You rolled your eyes but did what he asked, walking over to the chairs in front of his desk and collapsing into one, the file resting on your lap, your backpack leaning against the side of the chair. Hotchner finally looked up, his gaze piercing yours, the room becoming more strained and the atmosphere becoming uncomfortably intense. You held out the file and he took it, setting it on a stack and then leaning back in his desk chair.

“What do you want, Agent Hotchner? Quite frankly, I’m not in the mood to deal with you and your ridiculousness,” you mutter, making him glare.

“You really don’t understand professionalism, do you, y/n y/l/n?” Hotchner asked, masking his anger with impassivity. His emotionlessness fell over him like a well-worn cloak, masking everything he was thinking perfectly.

You smirk arrogantly, deciding to play his game. “Oh, I do, I simply find that you aren’t worth that professionalism. I’ve been working for 72 hours straight to help your team. Why waste time with the professional pleasantries? If your expecting excessive complacency or apologies, you aren’t going to get them,” you state bluntly, leaving no room for discussion. Hotchner let out a small chuckle, the sound dark and smooth as he let his emotions show. He smirked at you, battling your own arrogance. He was playing your game. He was toying with you as you toyed with him. In hopes of throwing him a bit off balance, you throw out another snide comment. “You have a crush on me or something Hotchner? You seem to love getting me alone.”

His eyes darkened, something in air beginning to crackle to life. “You’re an arrogant little thing, aren’t you?” Hotchner queried rhetorically, standing from his chair and rising to his feet with grace.

“I prefer confident,” you counter, rising to your own feet to match his challenge. Defiance sparked inside you, determination to win whatever the hell this was rising to the forefront of your mind and sticking there. That declaration only seemed to make Hotchner smirk harder, something you found frustrating. You hated how he got under your skin in an effortless moment. You had to do more work to get under his.

“Would you disrespect Katie like this, or do you only act like this when you want to fuck someone?”

The question caught you by surprise. There had been a lot of things you expected him to say, but that was not one of them. “Are you always this dickish or do you only act like this when _you_ want to fuck someone, Agent Hotchner?” you fire back, making his face twist into impassivity, a glimmer of anger passing over his features but dissipating quickly. Hotchner took a step towards you and once again you stayed put. You weren’t giving him the privilege of seeing you off balance. You smirk once again, a thought coming to mind that makes you laugh darkly. “For being a profiler, you are quite dense. Did you ever think that I enjoy seeing you frustrated?” you offer, making Hotchner’s lips twist into a snarl.

“You don’t know when to stop, you arrogant brat,” Hotchner commented, your features hardening with anger as the words left his mouth.

“The fuck did you just call me, you idiotic bastard?” you demand.

“You heard me,” Hotchner spat.

Your eyes burned into his, two wills battling for dominance, the small office becoming full of unrelieved tension. “And what are you going to do about it? Tell my boss? That would be a waste of time and we both know it. You have no say here, Hotchner. You aren’t my damn boss,” you retort.

He moves quickly, coming around the desk and yanking you to him by the material of your shirt, his face inches from yours. You take in every plain and feature, the tension in the room shifting from professional to sexual. “I’m going to give you what you want and fuck that bratty attitude out of you,” he declared.

You laughed, finding that hilarious but incredibly arousing. You wanted him to, but you wanted to push him more. “And if I say no?” you ask, smirking yet again.

“We both know you aren’t going to say no,” Hotchner replied insidiously.

You look around and then back at Hotchner, cocking your head to the side and quirking a brow at the man. “Then what’s your plan? Going to bend me over you desk?” you taunt, eliciting a dark laugh from the man yet again, his head thrown back as he did. The laugh died out, turning into a seductive hum that was tinged with dark domination.

“If you actually think I’m risking my career over correcting your bratty attitude, you’re sorely mistaken. My place. I’ll drive you,” Hotchner said, finality clear in his tone. You smirk throwing your hands up and nodding. Let the true challenge begin.

* * *

  
You rode in an elevator up to Hotchner’s apartment, you leaning against the wall on one side while he stood firmly on the other. Sexual tension crackled in the air, the battle of two wills going unspoken but still running rampant in the small space. The door opens with a small _*ding*_ and the both of you step out, you a few steps behind Hotchner as you have no idea which door is his. You were somewhat shocked he was doing this, but you weren’t complaining. The man was attractive, you had to give him that. He just didn’t strike you as the type to make impulsive decisions like this nor did he strike you as the type that was into men. Again, you weren’t going to voice an opinion on that. You preferred just going with it.

He unlocked his door, stepping to the side and motioning you inside. You smirk at him and step inside, taking off your shoes and setting your backpack by the door for when he more than likely kicked you out. Then he had you by the scruff of your neck, dragging you down a small hallway and into what you assumed was his bedroom, practically throwing you on the bed. You looked at him, smirking as you rested on your forearms, your body twisted as you laid partially on your side and watched him. He looked at you with a new type of seriousness, pausing as he spoke, “if you want to stop at any time, the word is red. If you need me to slow down, the word is yellow. Do you understand?”

You nod, “I understand.”

“Repeat it back to me, then,” Hotchner demanded.

You obliged him, understanding what he was thinking. While he wanted to break you, he still wanted you to be safe and somewhat comfortable. Everyone had limits, yourself included. “Red to stop, yellow to slow down. This isn’t my first rodeo, Agent Hotchner. You aren’t going to break me so easily,” you remark, making him cock his head to the side and take a step towards the bed.

“Who said anything about easy? I’m not going to go easy on you, y/n. You don’t deserve easy,” he retorts, a smirk of his own ghosting his lips as he came over the bed and onto you, one hand planted by your head, the other coming to caress your throat. Two fingers slid down the column and then his hand was around your throat, squeezing gently.

“Wow, you plan on choking me. So devious,” you mock, rolling your eyes. His hand leaves your throat, two fingers sliding up and tilting your chin as he looks down at you. His hand moves suddenly, smacking you across the face, making you close your eyes and grin angrily in disbelief. “I’m sorry,” you begin, “I know you didn’t have the audacity to smack me across the damn face.”

Hotchner chuckled, two fingers slipping under your chin again as he made you look at him, heat blooming across your face from where he slapped you. “I think you like that,” Hotchner teased, his hand coming across your face again. Your anger was growing, and while he was right, you hated the way he mocked you.

“You’re fucking insufferable, you know that, Agent Hotchner?” you spit at him, anger fueling the both of you now. Both of you were battling for dominance, trying to assert your will over the other’s.

“Try talking to yourself, for once,” Hotchner shot back. Once again, his hand comes across your face, a hiss of mixed pleasure and anger escaping from your gritted teeth. His thumb flicked over your bottom lip, two fingers coming to rest in quiet order to open your mouth.

You smirk defiantly, “fuck you.” Hotchner growled, the sound throaty and low, speaking to his dark anger and lust. Sexual tension weigh heavily in the air, arousal building by the moment between you both. Your jeans were starting to become somewhat tight and comfortable, your eyes flicking down to assess Hotchner, his own impressive bulge growing by the minute. His hand smacks you again, making you lose the smirk and replace it with a feral glare that was borderline dangerous.

“Open your mouth. I won’t ask again,” he threatened, his voice cold like frostbite.

“Make me,” you taunt, a growl leaving his throat as his hand slipped into your hair, yanking your head back and baring your throat to him, his other hand pressing to restrict your breathing. You open your mouth, trying to take in the air that was suddenly cut off. Two thick fingers slipped into your mouth, pushing back as far as he could possibly get them, making you gag lightly around them.

Hotchner chuckled, the sound making you more and more angry. “So, this is how it will be. You won’t break me, but you _will_ break. It might take a heavy hand, but by the time the night is over you won’t be such a defiant little brat, will you y/n?” Hotchner taunted, his dominance beginning to outweigh yours. If you could insult him out loud, you would have. The arrogant bastard deserved it, after all. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, setting them on your chin and leaving a line of saliva down your throat.

“You aren’t going to break me, Hotchner. I won’t fucking let you,” you snap. He laughed. The fucker _laughed._

“Oh? I think I already have. You aren’t difficult to profile. You really are just begging for someone to come along and put you in your place, aren’t you? And I’m exactly what you want. We both know who’s in control here, and it isn’t you,” Hotchner said, amusement and arrogance dripping from every fucking word. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin, “I can give you what you want, and I will. By the time I’m done, you won’t be able to satisfy that need any other way.”

You scoffed, “yeah, right. I highly doubt that, Hotchner.”

He grinned against your neck, “so when I reach down, I won’t find you fully hard for me? If I didn’t intrigue you, you wouldn’t have acted like you did. You want me to wreck you, to prove I’m worthy of your submission. I think I’ve already got you wrapped around my finger.” He sure was a cocky motherfucker. As if on cue, his hand slid down, cupping your cock that was still trapped within the denim confinement of your jeans. He let out a seductive purr when he spoke again, his voice the encapsulation of sex and sin. You’d be lying if you didn’t find this entire ordeal hot as hell, but you weren’t willing to admit he was right out of pure spite. “And guess who was right?” he teased, his hand sliding up and underneath your shirt to caress your bare skin.

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” you mutter, irritation and arousal seeping from your every pore. His fingers dug into your skin at that, a warning for you to stop pushing it, although you ignored that. “Wow, I am so intimidated. You’ll have to try a lot harder than that, Hotchner.”

“Make another comment like that again, and I will shove my dick so far down your throat you won’t be able to talk for days,” he warned. You rolled your eyes, a smile forming on your lips out of pure disrespect and unabashed disbelief of that statement. While you believed he would do it, you found the warning to be ridiculous. His teeth nipped at your neck, leaving wet kisses until he was hindered by the collar of your shirt. His fingers went to the buttons and freed them quickly. “Off,” he ordered. You cocked an eyebrow, looking at him as though he spoke to you in a foreign language.

_Slap._

Your hand went up to cup your cheek but was caught by his and pinned to the bed. “When I tell you to do something, you do it, understand?” he asked, his demanding tone not lost on you, however.

“Yes,” you sneer.

_Slap._

“Yes _what_ , brat?” he demanded more outright this time.

“Yes, you _bastard_ ,” you emphasize, fire blazing in your eyes.

 _Slap_.

“We’ll try that again. If you don’t get it right this time, you’ll get my belt on your ass instead,” he threatened. You look at him, studying his face to try and decipher if he was bluffing. “Yes _what?_ ” he growled.

You take a chance, deciding he was bluffing. Even then, you had to keep it up. You had sworn you weren’t going to break for him. Maybe you would but you weren’t going to break this quickly. You had more power of will than that. “Yes, you absolute _insufferable dipshit_ ,” you answer, winking for the sake of effect. With that he pulled back, yanking you back with him. He ripped your shirt off your head and tossed it carelessly to the side. His fingers went to your belt, undoing it deftly and yanking your jeans and boxers off. You were promptly spun around and forced to bend over, your hands on the bed, arms holding your position. A small shiver ran up your spine at the metallic rattling of his belt buckle, the hiss of leather against the expensive cloth his slacks were made out of spurring on newfound anticipation.

Hotchner pressed himself against you, leaning over you to whisper in your ear. “Now, you’ll count out ten. I’m going to spank you until you get it right. Once we’re done, I’ll ask my question again and you’ll answer me properly. If you can’t do that, the cycle will continue until you can,” he whispered, his breath hot, making more heat shot to your already hard cock. A hand ran up the backs of your thighs, teasing the skin and putting you even more on edge. His hand slid up, brushing over your ass and then moving around your waist and up your abdomen, purposely avoiding your groin. He straightened, the feeling of leather against the back of your thigh making you flinch.

There was a pause, a small hesitation in his actions. “Color?” he asked seriously, “I won’t do this if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“That’s good to know,” you remark, “green. I don’t mind.” It was genuinely good to hear, though. You appreciated that even in his anger he didn’t want to _actually_ break you. Bratty behavior was one thing, ignoring a withdrawal of consent was not **(ALWAYS ASK FOR CONSENT LADIES AND GENTS).**

_Crack._

“FU—” you yell, pain sparking inside you, “one.”

“Very good,” he praised, bringing the belt down again. Hard.

 _Crack_.

“Jesus, two,” you groan. You can feel him smirking in pleasure at the sight before him, but don’t comment. The asshole was strong, and he could probably make this hurt a lot more. It already hurt a ton.

_Crack._

“Th-three.”

By the time you got to seven, tears were leaking out of the corners of your eyes. Hotchner didn’t let up, the next strike coming down as quickly as the ones before it.

_Crack._

“E-Eight, holy fuck, please,” you bite out.

Hotchner’s amused tone didn’t strike a nerve with you when he spoke again, the hits momentarily pausing. “What are you asking for? More? I can give you more if I need to,” he said, making you frantically shake your head. “No? You have to tell me what you want, y/n,” he admonished teasingly.

“Please, just get this over with,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

_Crack._

“Ni— _fuck_ —nine,” you breathed, practically panting.

“One more, sweetheart, you’re doing so well. You can take one more for me, can’t you?” he asked, although it wasn’t condescending or demeaning. You nod slightly, making him tsk in disapproval. “I want you to use your words when you answer me. Try again unless you need five more spanks?”

“Y-Yes, sir, I can take one more,” you reply, your entire lower body on fire. You were going to have welts on your ass for weeks. You weren’t going to be able to sit down correctly for weeks, either.

“Good boy. You’re doing so well. Last one,” he praised lightly, his voice softening before he administered the final blow. It was the hardest one yet.

_Crack._

“SON OF A—ten. Good fucking god,” you said loudly, tears leaking down your face. Hotchner’s clothed erection was pressed into your now on-fire backside, his body leaning over yours so he could continue whispering in your ear like he had been.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. What do you say?” he whispered, nibbling at the shell of your ear.

“Y-Yes sir,” you whispered, your body taunt with arousal.

“What was that? You have to speak up, sweetheart.”

“Yes. Sir,” you say, projecting your voice more.

He let out a breath, his contentment clear. He had broken you, the both of you knew that. He nuzzled his nose against your ear, smiling against your neck approvingly. “You took your spanking so well, sweetheart. Your ass looks so good all bruised up for me,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck to your shoulder, his teeth biting softly. He was leaving marks in places that wouldn’t be visible. At least he was aware before he went about marking you. You felt a calloused hand cup one of your sore asscheeks, making you jolt forward from the unexpected touch. “Can I fuck you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I figured you would before we even got here. Just wear a condom,” you say, the both of you breaking out of character for a moment before slipping back into the dynamic the two of you had created. He stood again, pulling you up with him. You stretched out, listening to the rustling of clothing and the opening of drawers. You were suddenly urged forward again, your body bent over so that your chest was touching the bed, but your feet were still planted firmly on the floor. The sound of a cap snapping open sliced through the air, anticipation building more and more. A slicked finger pressed against your entrance, making you tense for a moment but relax, granting his finger easier access.

He worked you open quickly, being thorough even though he was clearly losing his patience. He couldn’t hide that very well, no matter how hard he seemed to be trying. He worked a third finger inside you, his fingers crooking at different angles as he searched for— “oh _fuck_ ,” you moaned, his fingers slamming directly against your prostate. A spark of pleasure was sent through you and then another as he purposely drove his fingers in and out to hit that spot every fucking time. You were dripping with precum by the time he was done prepping you, need racing through your system.

“Do you want my cock, y/n?” Hotchner asked in a sing-song tone.

“Yes, please,” you begged shamelessly.

The tip of his cock pressed inside you, his hands then sliding up your sides and up to your shoulders, curling around them and then pulling you back as he thrust forward, his cock slamming inside you. You just about screamed from the pleasure. He bottomed out and then pulled out to the tip, slamming back again. And again. You fingers curled, digging into the material of the comforter as pleasure was sent through you again and again, the pleasure building with each stroke into you. “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? For me to use you like you’re nothing more than a fucktoy?” Hotchner growled, his hips snapping into you relentlessly.

Your mouth falls open to respond but the words die on your lips, a moan escaping your lungs involuntarily as he suddenly switched angles, snapping his hips forward and pressing into your prostate. Hotchner’s laugh was seductively dangerous, his frustration leaving him with every thrust inside you. “Such a tight fucking whore for me. If you wanted to be treated like a slut, next time just ask. But that would get rid of half the fun for you, wouldn’t it, brat? You just love it when someone needs to be rough with you and break you down,” Hotchner sneered, his words dripping with lust. You just moaned and keened in response, one of your hands reaching down so you could stroke yourself. He stopped abruptly, grabbing your hand before it could reach its goal and pinning it behind your back. He leaned forward, grabbing your other hand and pinning it with your other hand, both held firmly in one of his hands.

He started moving again, resuming his brutal pace. His other hand found your hair, yanking and pulling you back up into his chest, a whimper wrenching free from your throat from the sudden sharp pull. His hand snaked out of it, sliding so it was around your throat, his fingers barely squeezing. “You don’t touch your cock unless I tell you to, you stupid fucking bitch,” he spat harshly, pounding into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

You needed some form of relief, your need driving you insane. “Please,” you pleaded; your voice as rough as sandpaper.

“No. Shut up and take it, brat,” Hotchner demanded, essentially denying you release. You whined and his grip around your throat tightened, cutting of some of your blood flow. “No more of that, sweetheart. You want to act like a brat, you get treated like one.” He kept squeezing, squeezing until small black dots clouded your vision and you went more lax in his grip. He obviously didn’t want you to pass out. That would be a real mood killer for the both of you, no doubt. He let go of your throat, bending you back over, his fingers digging into your shoulder and pulling you back to meet each and every movement he made. He abused that one spot, driving you to the edge as he drilled into you mercilessly. You might cum untouched if he kept that up.

“P-Please,” you whimpered, trying to grind into the bed and get any kind of stimulation. A hard smack landed across your ass, making you yelp.

“Needy fucking slut. Have you learned your lesson, brat?”

“Yes! Yes, I won’t do it again. Sir, please,” you exclaimed, tears re-emerging in your eyes as the need to climax built.

“Good boy,” he praised darkly, his arm sliding under you and pulling you back against him, his other hand letting go of your hands to stroke your aching cock. One of your hands went to grip his waist, the other gripping his wrist. Your fingers dug into his wrist, your head falling back against his hard shoulder. The smell of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, filling your nostrils as Hotchner fucked into you like he was going to die if he didn’t. He stroked you fast and hard, matching his strokes with his thrusts as he chased his own high. “I want you to prove you can be good and cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good boy and cum,” he ordered gruffly, his voice rough with arousal.

You came, groaning as you came into his hand. You then realized he didn’t plan on stopping, his hand continuing its movements as he fucked into you. Overstimulation struck you quickly, the feeling of pins and needles making you thrash slightly. Hotchner just tightened his grip, not letting you free or stopping. “You feel so fucking good,” he moaned, his focus shifting to throwing himself over the edge of release. His thrusts began stuttering, his climax hitting him as he groaned, spilling into the condom. The both of you stayed still, panting from the intensity in which you both had sex.

“Jesus,” you panted quietly, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise lol


	3. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> read and find out, mf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha what am i doing with my life? send help

**_“Now you’re free and wild,_ **   
**_Just give it a while,_ **   
**_Time will tell,_ **   
**_You’re under my spell,_ **   
**_There ain’t no runnin’ from me…”_ **   
**_-No Running From Me – Toulouse_ **

* * *

Your head fell back, resting against Hotchner’s very muscular shoulder, your eyes closing as you tried to catch your breath. “Jesus…” was all that fell out of your mouth. You were about to prepare to get shoved out the door and kicked out at who knows what time it is.

“Yeah,” Hotchner breathed, agreeing with the unspoken commandment to the intensity of the two of you having incredibly angry sex with each other. He slid out of you but kept his arm around your abdomen, his heaving chest vibrating against your back. “You did so well, sweetheart. Good job. Lay down and I’ll rub some lotion on those welts,” he praised, jumping headfirst into aftercare. Your eyes widen in slight surprise, but you just rolled with it, collapsing onto the bed with a groan, your face buried in the comforter. Hotchner chuckled lightheartedly, moving around the room and opening a door. You paid that no mind, however, your body thoroughly exhausted from having part of your brain fucked out.

You closed your eyes, the feeling of stickiness from the sweat drying made you want to get this over with so you could take a shower, but you were too tired to move and start getting dressed. There were footsteps behind you and then the bed partially dipped, Hotchner’s calf bumped into your leg but you ignored it. There was a sudden coldness on your ass, the roughness of his calloused hand from working rubbing it in gently. You let out a small sigh, relief flooding you as the heat and sting from the welts slowly began to dissipate. You thought you might actually fall asleep if he kept massaging you like that. You were already tired from being up for 72 hours working, the intensity and energy exerted from having mind blowing sex wasn’t helping, either.

“Are you tired, y/n?” Hotchner asked, amused as you fought to keep your eyelids open.

“No,” you mumbled back.

“Don’t lie to me. You can sleep here. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Hotchner murmured, warmth seeping into his soft voice.

You looked back at him, quirking a brow. “You’re letting me sleep here?” you asked.

He raised a brow himself. “Yes. Did you think I was just going to fuck you and kick you out?” he asked, his own confusion lacing his voice.

“Kind of,” you muttered.

“Why?”

“Well we aren’t the necessarily the best of friends or anything, so I kind of assumed you were going to be an angry asshole, realize what the fuck we just did, and then kick me out before I could get a word out,” you explain, slightly amused as distaste passed over Hotchner’s features at your statement.

“Not going to happen. You can stay here for the night because it’s late and you’re about to fall asleep anyways. I also don’t want to be the reason you go into a drop. That’s just cruel considering the fact I wrecked you. You almost cried, for Christ’s sake,” Hotchner stated. The last part made you blush a bit so you turned your face away in hopes he wouldn’t notice or comment on it. He had the grace not to, thank god.

“Then I will sleep on the couch, Hotchner. This is your bed. I’m just the one-night stand. It’s cool,” you mutter, trying to get up only to be forced back down.

“Stay here,” he ordered more firmly.

You rolled over, scowling up at the man. He stands there, cocking a brow before trying to walk away. “Ugh, god damn it, Hotchner,” you sigh, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back onto the bed, “it’s a queen-sized bed. We’ll share it. Just please dear god, don’t get anymore ideas. I’m too fucked out for anymore sex.”

Hotchner let out a small laugh, his arm coming around you and pulling you into his chest. “Stubborn fucking brat,” Hotchner said, amused by your actions to get him to stay in his own fucking bed. If you got the chance you would move to the couch.

You smacked him lightly, closing your eyes, “shut up, Hotchner. It’s not like you don’t like it. Or are you really that fucking dense?”

“Don’t push it,” he warned although you could tell this was a bluff. He was acting. You didn’t bother responding, you simply exhaled deeply, trying to tell him that the conversation was now over. “Get up so you can sleep under the sheets,” he ordered softly. You raise a hand, flipping him the bird in hopes he would understand your message. You feel the bed shift as he climbs off it, his arms sliding under you and picking you up. He sets you down and you glare at him, looking around so you could slide your boxers back on. You picked them up, throwing them on and then moving to the other side of his bed and sliding under the light gray sheets. Once again, he pulls you into him, your head resting on top of his shoulder and pectoral.

“Night, Hotchner,” you mumble.

“Good night, y/n.”

* * *

Your 6am alarm shouted at you, rousing you from sleep quickly. “I’m up, I’m up!” you shouted, jackknifing up in the bed and then narrowing your eyes at the unfamiliar surroundings. This was _not_ your apartment nor was it your bedroom. Last night smacked you across the face and you just rolled with it, not taking very long to dwell on much. You glanced over, finding Hotchner gone from where he had been sleeping. “If that bastard actually had the audacity to get up and sleep on the couch when I told him not to, I swear to god,” you mutter to yourself, exasperated by the man already. You rolled out of his bed, finding your jeans and taking out your phone, turning off the alarm and then pulling the jeans on. You left your shirt on the floor. No need for it if you were about to kick Hotchner’s sorry ass.

You didn’t find him on the couch, you found him in the kitchen making food. “What the hell are you doing at 6 o’clock in the god damn morning,” you ask, your tone one of disapproval at the sight of him. He wasn’t in work attire, rather in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Good morning to you too, smart ass,” Hotchner grumbled, glancing back at you, “why are you up?”

“I’m up because I have a job. What about you?” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

“I’m taking my day off. I called Katie and managed to get you the day off as well. She told me to tell you she would kick your ass if she saw you in the office today,” Hotchner replied.

You shot him a bewildered look. “You got me the day off? Why the fuck did you do that?” you asked, confused by his sudden kindness. You had only known each other a few days, but god, this wasn’t your style. You preferred being a pain in his ass and you liked that because he deserved it.

“You worked 72 hours straight, got fucked, and then slept for six hours. You need more sleep if your going to work efficiently,” Hotchner explained, waving you off as though it was an everyday occurrence.

“So, if you have the day off, why are you awake at 6am?” you ask, voice rising with blatant confusion, your face twisting into disapproval. You thought the man was crazy for being up that early on an off day.

“Because I got hungry. Now go back to bed,” Hotchner declared authoritatively.

“Why?” you asked, eyes narrowing as he continued to further your state of bewilderment.

He turned around, shooting you a stern look. “Because I told you to. Go back to bed,” he ordered again, more firmly this time.

You bite back the urge to laugh, your bewilderment shifting to amusement at that. “Hotchner, you do realize the entire reason I’m standing half naked in your apartment at 6am on a weekday is because I don’t listen to you, right?” you ask sarcastically, unable to contain your laughter as you finished your sentence. He sighed, flicking off the burner and then approaching you, leaning down and throwing you over his shoulder. “What the fuck, Hotchner! Put me down,” you shouted, your wish falling on deaf ears. He dropped you on the bed, caging you there.

“Go back to sleep, y/n,” he ordered, his brown eyes piercing yours.

“Why!? I have a perfectly good apartment!” you exclaim in rebuttal.

His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Because you have only gotten six hours of sleep. I’ll be the one to take you back to your apartment. Just go back to sleep. Please.”

“But I’m up now. I’m not tired. I swear. I’ll get out of your hair and we can go on about our lives,” you argue, although you might as well be arguing to a brick fucking wall at this point.

Hotchner suddenly wrapped a hand around your throat, making you stop immediately, less out of fear and more out of surprise. “I will fuck the defiance out of you if you don’t shut the fuck up and do as you’re told,” Hotchner growled, making you swallow.

You smirked defiantly however, thinking that was you best move. “You wouldn’t,” you laugh.

He grinned wickedly, leaning down and nuzzling his nose against yours and then leaning closer to your ear, “you really don’t know who you’re messing with, do you sweetheart?”

“Yeah I do. I’m dealing with a fucking moron—”

You were cut off by two of his fingers slipping inside your mouth, pushing back so you gagged lightly like he had done last night. “Enough. I don’t want to hear another word leave your mouth unless it’s “yes sir” or “no sir”, understand?” he asked, removing his fingers so you could actually speak to him.

“I’m not even—”

_Slap._

You stare at him, more shocked than anything else. Sudden defiance and anger quickly took the place of shock, however. “What the fuck, Hotchn—”

_Slap._

“Jesus, can you stop—”

_Slap._

He arched a brow, “are you done yet?”

You shot daggers at him with your eyes but acquiesced to his authority. “Yes sir,” you mumbled, not happy about it.

“You remember the safe words, yes?” Hotchner asked, moving along as though he hadn’t just smacked you across the face. You nod, answering without really thinking about it. The answer was yes. He had used the traffic system in essence, so it wasn’t hard to remember. “Do I need to teach you another lesson about responding to me properly?” he asked, disapproval clear in his voice.

Your eyes widen and you shake your head no, “no sir.”

He smirked triumphantly down at you, pleased his lesson from last night had worked so well with you. How could it not. You were sore from him bringing his belt down on your ass ten times and he hadn’t exactly hit you gently. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over where it was beginning to redden and sting from him slapping you. “If you’d learn when to shut your bratty mouth, I wouldn’t have to slap you,” he murmured. You opened your mouth to say something and then closed your mouth, deciding against it. “Look at that. You finally understand. Good. Now, you have three choices: I can fuck you and you can go back to sleep, you can go back to sleep, or you can eat with me and then go back to sleep. What will it be?” he asked, his face severely serious.

You thought it over. You weren’t very hungry given the fact you had basically just woke up, so you threw that one away. He was good at the fucking part, so you gave it some serious consideration. “Question,” you say apprehensively, bracing for his hand to come across your face in reprimand.

“Yes?”

“Hypothetically, let’s say I choose the sex,” you begin, making him bite his bottom lip to contain his amusement, “how hard are you going to fuck me? Because if you don’t do it right, I will not go to sleep.”

Hotchner stifles a laugh, trying to give you a serious answer to a very non-serious question. It was obviously difficult for him. “It won’t be quite as rough as last night, but it will put you to sleep. I promise you that,” he murmured seductively.

You nodded, “then please, be my guest and fuck me to sleep, Hotchner.” Hotchner chuckled, his teeth nipping at your neck and moving down, working to get you in the mood to have another round of sex. This was something he seemed to be good at, so you doubted it would take you very long. He trailed kisses down to your collarbone, nipping and sucking this skin harder as it would be hidden by your shirt. You went to touch him, but your hands were grabbed and pinned, making you scowl in disapproval. He got to touch you, but you couldn’t touch him? What kind of bullshit was that?

“Is there a problem, y/n?” Hotchner asking teasingly, his tone infuriating the side of you that wanted dominance in this situation. Your submissive side was already on its knees, worshipping the man before you.

“You can touch me, but I can’t touch you? Hardly seems fair,” you comment dryly.

“Who said anything about fair? You’re a brat, that doesn’t give you that many bargaining chips. If you prove to me you can behave, maybe I’ll let you touch me,” he explains, taking on that sing-song tone that drove you in the opposite direction. That tone drove you insane. You had always taken on more of a dominant role with your partners, whether they were male or female or groups of both. Sometimes you liked playing the submissive, but for the most part you enjoyed control. In a way it kept you safe. You could keep your distance that way.

“Keep talking like that and I won’t,” you mumble under your breath.

_Slap._

“GOD! Can you not—”

_Slap._

The entire right side of your face was on fire, heat blossoming across it and building as he repeatedly slapped you as reprimand. “You’re a smart boy, y/n. Stop talking out of turn and I won’t slap you,” Hotchner reiterated, making you glower at him. You were far from a boy and you hated the condescension that was implied in his statement. Apparently, your disdain was more obvious than you thought it was, as Hotchner opted to explain his choice of words. “You act in part like a petulant child, so yes, smart _boy_ , y/n. I would call you that even if you didn’t. You’ll have to get over it,” Hotchner chided. He seemed somewhat adamant, so you surprisingly let it go, mostly because you were sure he was going to slap you if you opened your mouth and said something.

Hotchner smirked, levering himself over you to give proper eye contact. “I’m going to let go of your hands. Don’t move them from where they are, understand?” he instructed, studying you with chocolate eyes clouded with hazy lust.

“Yes sir,” you reply, giving into him easier than you had last night.

“Good boy. No talking unless the words coming out of your mouth are “yes sir” or “no sir”. I won’t hesitate to put you over my knee for disobeying me,” Hotchner warns ominously, sending a small shudder from remembered pleasure and pain through your system. Hotchner chuckled, letting go of your hands and placing two fingers at the column of your throat and sliding them down to your collarbone and then down to trace your pectoral. “I think you enjoy being punished, more specifically being hurt, don’t you?”

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip, thinking about what card to play. You could lie, which led to who knows where. You could be honest, which gave the asshat what he wanted. You could stay quiet, which gave you more control of the situation but would more than likely lead to him smacking you or spanking you again.

“Answer me, y/n,” Hotchner commanded, his tone taking on a new lowness from his building arousal.

A wicked smile spreads across your face, a sudden response coming to mind that would rile the both of you up. “If I’m that easy to profile, you tell me, jackass,” you smart, making him growl. He grabbed your throat again, squeezing and cutting off just a little bit of your blood flow.

“Am I going to have to fuck this pretty little throat to get you to learn, y/n? You really need to learn some manners, sweetheart, and I will happily be the one to teach you,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

You smirk, finally giving him something he wanted, “no sir, you don’t. You’re right, I enjoy pain. But toying with you is fun for me.” Hotchner’s fingers went to your belt, unbuckling it with ease and then pulling your boxers and jeans off more than enthusiastically. You were semi-hard already, falling into the dynamic the two of you had quicker than you were willing to admit. He pushed back onto his knees, straddling you as he reached back, opening his bedside drawer and taking out a bottle of lube before shutting the drawer. His furniture was dark, matching the mood he had created for the space. The walls were a stark white, dark sconces above the bed, an abstract painting using the neutral tones he seemed to like hanging in the center between them and above the headboard.

A lubed hand wrapped around your dick, stroking slowly, trying to get you to fully erect and needy. He wouldn’t have to try very hard to do that. “ _Fuck_ ,” you breathed, thrusting up into his hand to try and get yourself harder and to start chasing your climax. Hotchner’s other hand went to your pelvis, pushing you down and holding you to the bed so you couldn’t thrust up to meet his strokes. You whined, need already coiling inside your gut as heat started to pool.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Upset I’m not letting you do things your way?” Hotchner snickered, pleased by my dissatisfaction. His hand kept moving, his pace slow and lazy.

“Yes, god, please,” you whined, still trying to push your hips up although his grip just got stronger as he kept you down on the mattress.

“Oh, I’m god now?” Hotchner teased.

You let out a small laugh at that, still finding that amusing even though you didn’t want to. “Shut up, Hotchner. You’re alright, but not that good,” you fire back, “fu-fuck, please.”

“What are you asking for? Use your words, y/n,” Hotchner admonished, his hand squeezing the sensitive tip of your cock.

“More, please… I need more— _Christ_ —please,” you moan out, throwing your head back against the bed as his thumb slid over the slit and collected a small amount of precum. Your mouth fell slightly agape and moans and noises spilled from your throat.

“You don’t deserve more, honey, you’ve already ignored my instructions by talking when I told you not to. You keep on misbehaving and being a brat. You need to start listening to me if you want to be rewarded,” Hotchner explained, his voice reflecting a softer demeanor. You let out another whine in protest, fighting the urge to move your hands and start taking care of business. Your fingers balled into fists, your body wriggling underneath Hotchner’s. “Good boy, keep your hands above your head. I’m going to edge you until your begging me cum and then I’m going to fuck you. Do you want that?”

“Yes sir, please,” you pant, his hand squeezing your cock a little tighter, his hand moving faster as he focused on his new goal, which was edging you to the brink of insanity. He pushed you to the brink of climax quickly and then stopped, letting go of your cock and placing his calloused hand on your thigh as he waited for you to come back off the edge. You whimpered, trying to fight your dominate side which screamed ‘take control of the situation and defy him.’

“Don’t whine now. This is what you asked for, this is what you’ll get. You have words you can say if you need me to stop, but I don’t think you do. I think you’re a greedy little brat who wants to be treated like a slut,” Hotchner growled. You look at him, trying to plead with him with your eyes to no avail. Your cock was pulsing, your need driving you damn near insane. After another minute he goes back to edging you, taking you close to the edge again and again and again, making you crazy with the need for release.

“What do you want, y/n? If you ask me nicely, I might give it to you,” Hotchner teased, making you let out an exasperated and thoroughly aroused groan. The cocky bastard was going to make you beg for it. Asshole.

“I— _holy fuck_ —I want you to f-fuck me, please,” you begged, deciding against the stubbornness. You’re need to cum outweighed your need to have control.

“Almost… what are you leaving out, sweetheart? Ask me again and fix your mistake and I’ll fuck you,” Hotchner promised, opening the lube bottle and squirting some lube onto his fingers. You furrow your brow, trying to think about what you hadn’t said. It clicked after a few seconds, your horny brain taking longer to piece everything together.

“I want you to fuck me, please, _sir_ ,” you emphasized, as though you were proving to him you could actually pay attention. It was slightly infuriating, but you pushed past it. Hotchner grinned, climbing off the bed and pulling you towards the edge with him by one of your ankles. You spread your legs, letting his hand slip underneath you, two slick fingers slipping inside you with ease. He was impatient himself, his own cock creating an impressive tent in his sweats. He didn’t have to do very much prep work because of how fucked open you were from last night, but he was still making sure he wouldn’t hurt you.

He removed his fingers, whipping his shirt off his head and then pushing his sweats off, letting you get a good look at him. He was toned and athletic, telling you he didn’t fuck around when it came to fitness. He reached over, snatching a foil packet off the nightstand and ripping it open, rolling a condom over his cock and slicking himself with lube. He positioned himself and then slowly sunk inside of you, both of you groaning in shared euphoric bliss at the feeling. He pushed himself into you until he was buried inside you, suddenly grabbing your ankles and throwing them over his shoulders, changing the angle and making your mouth form an ‘o’ shape as he brushed your sweet spot.

Then he started moving, hammering into you with expert skill. You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to control profanities and shameless begging from leaving your throat. Hotchner glared down at you, hammering into you harder, your mouth falling open as sparks of pleasure were sent throughout your entire body. “Don’t try and hide those pathetic little noises from me, you needy little minx. I want to hear how helpless you are for me. I want you to be screaming by the time I’m done with you,” Hotchner snapped, the persistence slapping of skin against skin battling his voice as he fucked you. While you had bottomed and played the submissive in certain relationships, this was the best you’d ever had while playing that role. You thought you might split in two from the pleasure.

“God, you are still so fucking tight, y/n. Even after how hard I fucked you last night, you’re still so damn tight around my dick,” he said, a slight moan escaping his lips as he somehow managed to fuck you faster than he was. The man was a machine; maybe he actually was a sex god. Holy shit. He changed his grip on your legs, shifting himself slightly so he could hammer directly into your prostate over and over, abusing the spot and nearly making you cum accidentally. “If you want to cum, you need to beg me for it.”

“Pl-please, please dear fucking god let me cum. I can’t fucking—ahh haa—I can’t fucking take it anymore. Please… please let me cum,” you pleaded, your voice tight with need.

Hotchner’s lips curled into a sadistic smile, “no. No you can’t cum. You don’t deserve to cum.”

“Why? Please? I’m not going to last… please, please can I cum?” you whined, desperation slicing through your tone as you slipped into a state of full-blown submission. Subspace. You had reached subspace.

“Because I said so, brat. Be a good boy and take it. If you can behave, I’ll let you cum, but I won’t if you can’t and I’ll punish you. You can take it, sweetheart, I know you can. You’re doing so well. Take it. Take it all,” he said in a low, sexy purr, his voice a mix with arrogant triumph and praise. Whimpers and whines and moans left your throat as you strained to contain your orgasm, your control over yourself slipping away by the second.

“Do you want to— _fuck, y/n, fuck_ —cum? Is that what you want?” Hotchner taunted.

“Yes, sir, please. I need it so fucking bad,” you pant, closing your eyes on a particular skillful stroke, “ _please_.”

“Tell me you’re a needy whore for me and then you can cum, honey. Say it,” Hotchner demanded, his arrogance getting the better of him and making his voice rough like sandpaper.

“ _Christ_ , I’m a needy fucking whore, alright? I’m a god damn whore, now can I please cum? Please?” you snap, desperation oozing out of you as the need for release damn near swallowed you whole.

“Cum, sweetheart. Cum for me while I fuck you senseless,” Hotchner growled, one of his hands releasing you legs and coming down to stroke your dick, pushing you over the edge. You nearly screamed as you came, the crash of carefully build euphoria coming over you and racing up your spine. You spilled into his hand, thick ribbons of cum coating his fingers and some of your stomach. He kept fucking you, chasing his own release. He set his fingers on your already parted lips, jamming them inside so you could suck the cum off. You ran your tongue over the digits, sucking softly, making him moan as he started to fall over the edge.

“ _Y/n, fuckfuckfuck_ ,” he moaned, cumming hard, his eyes closing as the ecstasy took him over. It was a pleasurable sight, his control breaking as he lost himself to his climax. The climax he found in you. He let go off your legs, letting them fall to either side of his from where he was standing, his body collapsing over yours as you both panted and caught your breath. “Did I… did I wear you out?” Hotchner rasped, making you let out a rough laugh.

You nodded, “yeah… yeah I think you did.” He kissed your sweaty forehead, peeling himself off you and pulling out, moving out of the room to dispose of the condom. He came back, a wet washcloth in his hand. He cleaned you off quickly, tossing the cloth on the bedside table and pulling you up, moving you upright in the bed and pulling the sheets over you, climbing in behind you.

“Go to sleep, y/n,” Hotchner commanded softly. You turned, flipping onto your side, facing away from him. One of his arms banded around your chest, pulling you firmly into him, his chest vibrating against your back as he slowed down his breathing. You both smelled like intense male sex and sweat, but you were too tired to care, sinking into the comfortable darkness of unconsciousness, an odd feeling of safety accompanying you from the feeling of Hotchner holding you to his strong chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMK what ya think and catch you in the next update ;)


	4. Lucky Number Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hehehehe spencer comes into the picture and we make a deal with hotch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. Shits been crazy where i live so that's been taking up most of my focus. I think i'm going to update this work once a week for the sake of sanity, I'm not quite sure. 
> 
> Anyways, here you go!

_**“I ride the edge,** _   
_**My speed goes in the red.** _   
_**Hot blood, these veins,** _   
_**My pleasure is their pain…** _   
_**I’ve always liked to play with fire…”** _   
_**-Play With Fire – Sam Tinnesz (Ft. Yacht Money)** _

* * *

You awoke what you could only assume was a few hours later, your head resting on someone’s pectoral. _Hotchner’s pectoral._ Your eyes closed and then opened and then closed, before snapping open in surprise at how you were both laying. One of your legs tangled with his, one of your arms thrown over his abdomen. His fingers were brushing through your hair, a contented hum coming from Hotchner’s chest. This suggested intimacy. The two of you were _not_ intimate. Horny? Yes. Kind of insane? Probably. Intimate? Definitely not.

“Stop freaking out, y/n. You just looked really comfortable. You must be considering you slept soundly and practically attached yourself to me. You must like me better in your dreams than when your awake,” Hotchner said, his voice low and gentle.

“Yeah, I can slap the shit out of you in my dreams,” you grumble, trying to get up only to be pulled back down. Hotchner’s arm banded around you, holding you to him tightly. “What the fuck, Hotchner!?”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence as a wicked smirk spread across his face.

“No. We are not fucking _again_ ,” you admonish, “I can’t do that again. And we were only supposed to fuck once anyways. But no. Someone had to be the alpha male.”

“We both know your bratty ass likes it,” Hotchner shot back. He was right. You did like it. A lot. It was easily some of the best sex you’d ever had. The man knew what he was doing but you were unwilling to admit that.

You scoffed, “do I? You’re average at best.”

A hand slid around your throat, starting squeeze and cut off blood flow, pushing you towards a euphoric high. Hotchner’s breath was hot against your ear, his voice instantly becoming dark and seductive. “I don’t tolerate liars, y/n. You’ve never been fucked like that in your life because you’ve never had someone put you in your place. And now you’re fucking addicted to it. That’s why your laying here letting me wrap my hand around that pretty little throat of yours and watch you lose it,” Hotchner purred.

“Fuck,” you gasped, closing your eyes as your blood flow was slowly constricted, making you slightly dizzy and incredibly euphoric. You could get used to Hotchner’s hand choking you.

“Call me average again, y/n. If that’s what you think, say it again. Say it again while I choke you,” Hotchner ordered. Your throat worked on a swallow as he lets up a bit, finally letting blood rush back to your brain. You stayed quiet, giving in and silently admitting he was right. But it was sex. Just sex. After today it would all be over, and you could go about your life. You hated getting attached to people and the last person you wanted to get attached to was Hotchner. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue or are you done lying to yourself?” Hotchner asked mockingly.

“Fuck you,” you mutter defiantly, unwilling to say what he wants to hear.

“I might if you keep giving me attitude,” Hotchner growled, his hand starting to squeeze again, a small moan escaping you involuntarily. You opened your eyes, pupils blown and full of lust as Hotchner coaxed you towards giving into him. “Am I average to you now?” Hotchner asked darkly, his voice low and demanding and so, so dominate.

You shook your head, taking in a labored breath as he loosened his grip again, “n-no s-s-sir.”

Hotchner smirked, suddenly grabbing you by the waist and flipping you, making you straddle him, your hands finding his shoulders as you tried to find your balance. You were panting, already turned on and ready for a third round should he offer one. “Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Hotchner began, his fingers gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy fucking you senseless. I thoroughly enjoy breaking down unruly little brats like you. So, I have a proposition for you.” You arch a brow, not opening your mouth to ask what he meant because he would slap you across the face. His thumb stoked over your cheek before sliding down just enough to flick over your bottom lip. He set two of his fingers on your lips, barely pressing forward, “suck.”

For the first time you automatically obliged him, opening your mouth and letting his thick fingers glide inside smoothly. You sucked softly, running your tongue along his fingertips and swirling it around the ends as though you were giving him head. He pushed them a little further, his lips parting just barely as his thoughts were momentarily clouded by lust. He pushed past it, resuming what he had been trying to talk about before he got lost in letting you suck on his fingers. You knew he was partially doing it because it would shut you up. “I don’t have the time nor the inclination to do anything serious and honestly you wouldn’t accept on the terms of possible intimacy. You panicked after waking up with your head on my chest, so I’m not expecting things to grow past what I offer. I’m willing to offer you a purely sexual relationship, with this dynamic. Me being the dominate, you being the submissive… well, bratty submissive.”

You stilled, looking down at him with a stunned look on your face. He withdrew his fingers, brushing them across your cheek, his eyes locking on yours and never leaving them. His hand snaked down, his fingers tracing the column of your throat and skimming over your collar bone, teasing your flesh and dragging out your anticipation. His hand glided down to your waist, his hips starting to roll and rut your cocks together. “Oh fu-fuck,” you breathed, looking down and watching as he rolled his body into yours, grinding into you shamelessly.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart. Pay attention,” Hotchner reprimanded, a seductive grin spreading across his face. You looked back up, doing as he asked and trying not to pay attention to the heat beginning to pool in your stomach and seep into your groin. Then the asshole started moving your hips with his hands, making you grind back into him and making you harder. “Every month we have sex. Nothing extreme given our careers, but at least once or twice within the month. Now, I want you to tell me if you're interested in my offer and we can negotiate the fine details later.”

“I have no— _mm god_ —I have no complaints, besides you being a sadistic prick,” you mutter in response, trying to force a smirk but failing miserably as his hands slide around your lower body and knead your ass. One of his hands leaves and then comes down suddenly, smacking you and lighting a fire inside your body, sweet pain coursing through you. You let out a small moan in response, your own irises darkening with need and hunger.

Hotchner kept moving, treating you like putty in his hands. “You need to learn some respect, brat. I’m offering to give you what you want. Be a good boy and behave,” he admonished lightly. Your nails started digging into his shoulder as the both of you started falling into a rhythm with each other. You leaned down, your lips crashing into his as you decided you couldn’t take it anymore.

* * *

You opened the door to your apartment, stepping inside and flicking on the light, Hotchner stepping in behind you. Luna ran to you immediately, rubbing against your legs with a loud purr. You smiled, bending down and picking the small black cat up and scratching behind her ears. “Hello Luna. I see you didn’t destroy anything in the apartment, which is nice you sneaky bitch,” you murmured, completely ignoring the other man who was looking at you like you had grown two heads. You let the cat go, watching as she hit the floor and went on about her afternoon. You turned around, looking at Hotchner who was the embodiment of power and control. “Thank you, but you really didn’t need to walk me up here,” you said, giving him a look of genuine thanks. While you found him somewhat insufferable, he was still kind enough.

“My mother taught me to be a gentleman, even to people I find drive me absolutely insane,” Hotchner smarted, making you grin and wink at him in response. You set your backpack down and took out your wallet, pulling out an embossed FBI business card with your information on it. You walked into your kitchen, pulling a drawer open and digging around for a pen. You found one, clicking it and scribbling down your cellphone number rather than your work number. You walked back out, extending the card to him.

“My cell number. It’s smarter than communicating through our professional lives. And I appreciate your honesty. It’s very…” you trailed off, trying to find the correct word.

“Charismatic?”

You shrug, “I was going to say the opposite of your normal dickish demeanor, but we can go with what you said.” He had the grace to laugh, shoving the card into the pocket of his jeans. You suddenly frown, a thought crossing you that you had forgotten to mention. “Hotchner, there’s one more thing you might want to know.”

He looked back up, his face twisting back into impassivity, something that was no doubt second nature to him. “What is it?” he asked, taking you with deadly seriousness.

“I’m polyamorous. I don’t usually stick to one partner at a time. If that’s something you’re uncomfortable with, then I understand, but I’m warning you. If I find someone else, I will probably see them at the same time as you. I will tell them what I’m telling you. As you said, this won’t be an intimate relationship. I’m just making you aware of the possibilities and telling you should it happen; I will make you aware of the relationship. I don’t take this type of thing lightly,” you explain confidently, keeping yourself calm and just as serious as he was.

He nodded, “I understand. I don’t intend on changing my mind, however. It doesn’t bother me as long as you keep me informed and get tested regularly for the sake of safety.”

You nodded, “then that’s settled. I appreciate your honesty, Hotchner.”

“And I, yours. And please, call me Aaron. Might as well become more comfortable with each other for the sake of our sexual relationship.”

You smirked, shaking your head, “get used to it, Hotchner. I don’t plan on calling you that. An asshole? Maybe. Aaron? Probably not.” Hotchner chuckled. He said a short goodbye and then took his exit, shutting the door behind him.

This just got interesting.

* * *

You sauntered into work the next day, feeling refreshed and ready to get started on your normal caseloads and start fielding information for your unit and a few others. You were dressed in black slacks, a gray V-neck sweater, and black dress shoes. It was a more casual look but still professional. You waved at Andre, another agent in your unit who also happened to be one of your best friends. You and Andre were a dream team, always paired together when Katie needed the best of the best quality work. You walked down the hallway, hitting the code on your door and then entering your office, leaving your backpack on a hook by the door and then walking into the room, turning on some of your lamps and lighting up your space.

You sat down, booting up your computer and each of your screens, starting your work diligently. You check your email, reading through some and replying, attaching records and sending information to different people that suited their needs. You go on for a few hours, occasionally getting up and stretching and resting your eyes. It wasn’t the best for them considering you stared at screens for hours and hours in a dark room. Your phone rang so you picked up the receiver, answering with a, “yep?”

“Hey kid. It’s Derek,” the man on the other end of the line said, no doubt a toothy grin on his face.

“Oh, hey Derek. What can I do for you? Is your tech still on leave?” you ask, smiling as you balanced the phone between your shoulder and ear as you sat back down.

“No, she’s back. She wanted to invite you out with our team to thank you for making everything run smoothly in her absence. She also wants to know the scoop between you and Hotch,” Derek explained.

You arch a brow, your face twisting into slight confusion, “why? He’s a prick, I didn’t let him push me around, we argued a bit. End of story. But I will happily accept the chance for free drinks and the opportunity to flirt with the genius and get his number, though.”

Derek chuckles, “he likes you; you know. If you need any help or need a wingman, I’ve got you.”

“That’s good to hear, Derek. What day and what time?” you ask, starting a search for records on a class a pedophile that Katie needed data on.

“Friday night. 7 o’clock. We’ll be at a local hole in the wall. I can text you the address. And y/n?”

“Yes?”

“You better sweep our pretty boy off his feet. He deserves it.”

You smile, bright and boyish, “I intend on treating Doctor Spencer Reid like a god damn king.”

* * *

When Friday came around you were somewhat content and more than ready to talk up Spencer Reid. Of course, you were going to respect his boundaries too. You knew what it was like when people didn’t, and you weren’t going to subject anyone else to that. Derek texted you the address to the bar and you smiled at it, although you weren’t sure if that was because you were getting an opportunity to delve into the mystery that was Doctor Spencer Reid or if what because you had another chance to piss of SSA Aaron Hotchner should he show up. It was more than likely a mix of both. You enjoyed both.

You stared at your computer screen, waiting for a search to finish and for a list to compile of all your data and findings. You compared both men. You didn’t know much about Spencer, but you knew he was nice and that you wanted to explore the possibility of more. He was smart, extremely nice, and willing to banter with you. Hotchner, on the other hand, was less of a mystery. Still a mystery, but less so than Spencer. Hotchner was harder and colder, his professional life being the only thing he seemed to care about. He was self-aware enough not to want to seriously hurt you by sending you into a spiral from the intensity of your interactions. And lord was he hot as hell.

A small ding brought you back out of your mental comparison, throwing you back into your work.

* * *

You opened the door to the bar at around 7:08pm, stepping into a vibrant atmosphere. The bar was swinging, music playing and people chatting, some people playing darts or pool while others had shots and played cards. You spotted the team, all of them talking to one another as they started on their first round of drinks. You made your way over, taking off your denim jacket and slinging it over your shoulder, a wide smile on your face as you came over to where the others were standing.

“Hey kid!” Derek greeted cheerily, a wide smile on his face.

“Hey Derek, hey Spencer,” you greet, Derek clapping a hand on your back.

“You must be y/n. I’m Penelope Garcia. Derek told me you did very well helping my team, which is good because they can be territorial, but I bet you—” a bubbly blonde rambled in a rush before being cut off by Derek.

“Calm down, baby girl. The kid just got here. Y/n, this is Penelope. Penelope, y/n.”

You stuck your hand out for a handshake, smiling, “y/n. It’s a pleasure to meet you Penelope. You have an amazing team.” She smiled, taking your hand for a brief shake and then waving you off.

“They’re alright,” she joked. Derek rolled his eyes, still grinning.

You turned towards Spencer, smiling at him while you threw your jacket over the back of an open chair. “How have you been Dr. Reid? Do anything else genius like?” you asked, starting to make your move on the man.

Spencer shrugged, smiling as he fell into conversation with you, turning his attention away from Derek and Penelope. “Here and there. I’ve been writing some articles for science journals and working with other divisions to crack some cold cases,” Spencer said nonchalantly. You noted that he seemed more confident, that he was playing it cool and becoming more dominant in an open social space. You grinned, laughing slightly at his dismissive tone towards it. “What?” Spencer asked, his voice betraying his hurt. He thought you were laughing at him.

“You just say that like it’s no big deal. It’s kind of funny. I’m not making fun of you, I think it’s funny that I could never do that but for you it’s a normal Tuesday,” you explain. Spencer nodded, cracking another bright smile. “You want a drink?” you ask, motioning towards the bar.

Spencer shook his head, “I, uh, I don’t drink. Long story.”

You nod, your smile thinning a bit, “that’s perfectly ok, Spencer. I’m going to get a drink. Be right back. Don’t think you’ve escaped talking to me, though.”

Spencer chuckled, “ok, y/n.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Sorry it's so short.


	5. Wild Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We make moves on Spence and start making deals with Hotchner. Woo hoo buddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHH. Yeah. I'm proud of this chapter.
> 
> Also, places mentioned are made up. I'm not looking that shit up. Sorry, not sorry.

_**“I kissed the lips of a potion,** _   
_**And now I’m out in the open,** _   
_**So follow me into the dark,** _   
_**Break up a piece of your heart,** _   
_**Sell it for, sell it for,** _   
_**Sell it for money and cars,** _   
_**Come out wherever you are…”** _   
_**-Sway With Me – Saweetie and Galxara** _

* * *

Spencer chuckled, “ok, y/n.” You smile, walking away and towards the bar and took an open space, waiting for the bartender to swing by you so you could order a drink. You waited patiently, looking at the other patrons of the bar and studying them. Everyone was lost in their own little worlds and you grinned, hoping you were going to play your cards right and get lost in a world with Doctor Spencer Reid.

“What can I get for you?” a bartender asked politely.

“An old fashioned, please,” you reply, giving him a polite smile as he walked away to make your drink. He came back a minute or two later and you nod, slapping a bill on the counter and walking away with your drink. You found that Spencer was waiting for you, smiling with his chin resting on his other hand that was propped on the table. “Take a picture, doctor. It will last longer,” you joke, making him chuckle softly.

“Maybe I will, y/n. You never know,” he joked back. You took a sip of your old fashioned. “Old fashioned?” he asked quizzically.

“Yeah. I was in the mood for something simpler,” you answer, nodding, setting the glass tumbler on the table.

“You know, an old fashioned was one of the earlier and simpler versions of cocktails before more modern bartending were developed in the later 19th century. The original definition of the cocktail varied slightly depending on the writer defining the word but was ultimately defined as a cocktail of potent spirits, bitters, water and sugar. As cocktails became more complex, drinkers would ask bartenders for drinks more akin to the pre 1850’s drinks as they weren’t developed with liqueurs or absinthe. The drink came back into vogue and was deemed the old fashioned, and the Pendennis Club, which was founded in 1881 in Louisville, Kentucky, claims it was invented there,” Spencer explained, his voice betraying his nervousness as he rambled.

You smiled at him, absolutely enthralled by every word falling out of his mouth. You understood that he thought he was putting you off. You enjoyed his rambling, however, nodding and letting your face show how impressed you were. “I never knew that. It’s nice to know though. Never know when it could help me kick ass at a trivia night,” you comment, giving him a bright smile as you tried to put him at ease.

He started fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry. I just, uh, ramble whenever I get overly nervous or, um, excited. You probably want me to shut up,” Spencer said, looking down at his hands.

You scowled. “Nope. I like that you enjoy learning and sharing your knowledge with the rest of the world. It’s nice. Ramble as much as you want. I’d rather you keep talking, genius. I like you, believe it or not,” you shoot back, making him blush and look up in surprise. You just grin, taking another swig of your drink.

“Y-You like me?” Spencer asked.

You nod, “yup. Sure do. I think you’re fucking amazing.” He smiled, blushing a bit harder and looking back down at his hands.

He looked back up, smiling brightly as his confidence seemed to pick back up. Thank god. You didn’t want him to freak out or something. You seriously did want to treat Spencer well. He looked like he wasn’t used to people appreciating him very often and that saddened you. He was a sweet man and a very good man. “Well, I like you too. So that’s nice to know,” Spencer said, “oh hey, JJ.”

“Hey Spence. We were wondering if y/n was up for some shots with us,” JJ asked, looking at me with an expectant smile. You look at Spencer and then at JJ and nod.

“Sure. But after that I am going to kick the good doctor’s ass in a game of pool,” you say, raising a brow in challenge.

Spencer smirked, laughing softly at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Mm hm. I think I am going to kick your ass at pool while slightly buzzed or possibly tipsy,” you fire back, grinning at him and then giving him a light punch to the shoulder. Spencer just laughed, smacking you back. You both walked to the next table over where Penelope, Derek, Emily, and JJ were lining up shots. Three for the each of you as well as lime wedges. Tequila. Great. Time to get fucked up.

“JJ said you challenged the math master over there to a game of pool,” Derek said, pointing at Spencer and grinning.

You nodded, feigning disapproval at their lack of faith in you. “Yeahhh… what could possibly go wrong?”

Derek just laughed, “a lot when you challenge the guy with three P.H.Ds to something he’s good at, kid.” You waved him off, laughing lightheartedly.

“Just let him think he can win, Morgan. It will be more satisfying when I inevitably crush him at pool,” Spencer said, cocky as ever. You just scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Alright, alright. Shut up and take a shot, bitches!” Emily interjected, picking up a shot glass and lime wedge and then holding it in the air. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” everyone said, knocking back their shot glasses and then shoving lime wedges in their mouths. You shudder at the bitter taste and then the sudden sourness of the lime, taking the wedge from your mouth and depositing it in a napkin to down the next two shots. You all down then in quick succession, wolf whistles coming from the group. You smile, settling into the social atmosphere. You felt comfortable, like you were meant to be there rather than being an awkward outsider who didn’t click with them at all.

“All right, brainiac, time to kick your ass in pool,” you mutter, taking Spencer by the arm and leading him towards an open pool table. You take the triangle and start racking the balls, making sure to line the triangle at the correct spot in order to break. “You want to break or me?” you ask.

“You can break. You’ll need all the help you can get, y/n,” Spencer offered, smirking wickedly.

“Whatever you say, genius,” you shoot back, smirking yourself. You take a stick from a rack hanging on the wall behind you and chalk the end. Spencer was spinning the cue ball between his fingers on the table. You took a second to look at him, admiring the sight. He looked fucking hot as hell, a cocky smirk on his face as he settled back into a confident, collected demeanor. If you weren’t trying to play the long game, you would already be trying to offer to go somewhere private. You sauntered over, deftly taking the cue from his fingers and winking, licking your bottom lip suggestively as you lined the cue up with the other balls. You bent over the table, lining up your shot and then striking the que ball, sending it into the other balls and then sending them all over the table. You didn’t sink any, unfortunately, but that was fine with you. You really did want to watch Spencer play. You found it intriguing.

“Big mistake,” Spencer commented with a sly grin that could lure you into hell without even trying. You just arched a brow and looked at the table, telling him to make his move. He studied the table, moving around it as he did whatever the fuck he was doing. He finally leaned over the table, aiming his shot and the pulling his stick back a few times and then finally thrusting forward, sending the que ball towards a stripped ball and pocketing it with ease. “Guess I’m stripes,” Spencer muttered, moving around the table as balls stopped rolling from being sent somewhere else. You just watched, watching as he studied everything meticulously and then made his decisions.

“We don’t have all night, genius. Take your shot or do you not have an angle?” you taunt playfully, smirking at him. He narrowed his eyes, bending over the table and then making his next shot, sending two balls hurtling into pockets and scattering the remainders. Spencer managed to pocket every single ball. The only shot you made was the break. You stared at him, dumbfounded and impressed, smiling. “Wow… Derek was NOT lying.”

“Nope, he sure wasn’t,” Spencer sing-songed, smiling triumphantly, “I do have a P.H.D in mathematics, so that helps.”

You glare at him, mouth agape, “you fucking cheater!”

“That’s not cheating! It’s just an advantage that I decided not to tell you about,” Spencer protested.

“Yeah, sure, Spencer. Sure,” you say sarcastically. You both saunter back over to your table, arguing playfully about whether he was cheating because he has a P.H.D. in math. You find the others engaged in more shots and you decline when they offer you the opportunity to jump in. You and Spencer sit down, rambling among each other and laughing.

“Pretty boy!” Derek greets, interjecting into your conversation.

“What do you want Morgan?” Spencer groans, faking annoyance.

“Shut up, man. You know you love me,” Derek commented. You just laugh, finishing off your drink and then standing.

“I’m getting another drink.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Spencer suggests and jumps up to follow, leaving Derek grinning and giving you a thumbs up. You both walk over to the bar, where you order another drink and lean into the bar. “I’ve, uh… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you,” Spencer says after a moment.

You smile, “I would love to do it more often.”

“Well, um, we can. But only if you want! I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I tend to annoy people and ramble, like I am now—” Spencer rambles but you cut him off.

You grab his tie, pulling him towards you with a smile. You were saying fuck it in your slightly drunk state, and he had looked hot as hell the entire night. “Shut up,” you say, crashing your lips into his and kissing him hard. He immediately reciprocates, taking your head in his hands and deepening it, earning everyone in the bar’s attention. You could hear his team cheering along with everyone else in the bar, whistles and hollers coming from all around you. You finally pull away, breathless and smiling like an idiot. “Wow, genius. Where’d you learn that?” you joke.

“Not at Caltech,” Spencer joked back. You take your drink from the bartender and pay him, walking back to the table where the rest of the team was smiling and seemingly freaking out over what you just did.

“Damn, kid!” Derek said, smiling wide and patting Spencer on the back. Spencer just smiled back. You shrug, waving it off as though it was no big deal.

“You two are the cutest! You better not break our boy’s heart, though, y/n. I will make you pay!” Penelope warned. You just nod your understanding, smiling at her in intense amusement.

The night winded down a few hours later, you somewhat drunk and immensely pleased with yourself. Spencer walked you outside, saying he needed to go home himself. He flagged down a cab but of course before letting you go for the night, slipped his card into your pocket, his personal number scribbled on the back and kissing you on the cheek.

* * *

Ringing woke you up. The insistent ringing of your phone. You were tempted to ignore it and just keep sleeping but you didn’t, grumbling as you rolled over and picked it up, accepting the call and answering. “Who are you and what do you want?” you asked, voice thick with sleep and drunken mistakes.

“It’s Aaron Hotchner. I was calling to ask if you would like to have dinner with me and discuss terms,” the deep voice on the other end of the line said.

“Fuck you, Hotchner. I was getting some pretty good sleep and of course you just _have_ to ruin it. Fucking prick,” you mutter, scrubbing at your face.

“Watch your mouth,” he reprimanded coldly, making you smirk.

“Why should I? You just woke me up and ruined a pretty good dream. I think you deserve to be called a fucking prick, considering you are one most of the time anyways,” you shoot back, practically daring him to do something. What could he do? You were speaking to each other on the phone. He couldn’t magically reach through it and smack you. You were safe for the time being.

“You’re incredibly lucky I can’t get to you right now, y/n, or else you would already be over my knee or choking on my cock,” Hotchner growled. You just arched a brow, rolling your eyes.

“Anymore empty threats, Hotchner? Or can we get on with the point?” you asked, making yourself sound unaffected and thoroughly unimpressed.

He sighed, the sound of creaking leather garnering your attention. He wasn’t at work, was he? It was a Saturday for Christ’s sake. “Yes, anyways. I was wondering if you would like to have dinner tonight and discuss terms. I want a clear foundation of everything before we take this relationship any further.”

You looked at the clock on your bedside table, reading the time. _10:24am._ “Um… sure. I’m fine with that. Where do you want me to meet you?” you asked.

“Legacy Steakhouse. I’ll pay.”

You run a hand through your hair, “thank god. My bank account could never.”

He had the grace to laugh, the sound smooth but still strained. He was containing his emotions. Cutting himself off. “Alright. Reservation is at 6 o’clock. Do not be late,” he warned.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. Now fuck off and let me go back to sleep, asshole,” you quipped.

“See you then.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, hanging up and not giving him the privilege of pleasantries or any resemblance of manners. You let out a groan, dropping your phone back on the nightstand and closing your eyes. A black cat jumped onto the bed with a loud mew, rubbing all over you. “Good morning, Luna. How was your night last night? Mine was pretty good. I made out with a hot genius in the middle of a bar in front of his team and got his number.” The cat just mewed back, rubbing her chin and face all over you. You sighed, throwing the sheets off and getting up with the cat in your arms. You walked into your living room and gave Luna food and set her down, moving back into the bedroom to get your shit together. You needed a shower and a cup of coffee. You opted for the shower first.

You turned the water on, stripping out of your boxers and throwing them in a wicker laundry basket. You then got in the shower, letting hot water course all over you and take away the feeling of intense hangover. You took twenty minutes to shower, letting your muscles relax. You turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel, drying yourself off and then wrapping it around your waist, walking back into the bedroom to get clothes. You threw on sweatpants that clung low to your hips and a plain black sweatshirt. You went about your day, making coffee and eating a breakfast, trying to get rid of the last of your hangover.

You trolled around the apartment for hours, waiting to get ready for the inevitable tension between you and Hotchner in the middle of a public restaurant. When the time finally came, you dressed in a three-piece suit. One of the only three-piece suits you owned. Black slacks, black jacket, black vest, black dress shirt, no tie. The only color was the red silk pocket square and watch that adorned your wrist. Although the suit wasn’t the most expensive, you screamed sex appeal. You always wore well-tailored suits; it bugged you when people didn’t. You also opted for cologne, letting the scent of Polo Black top everything. You looked put together. Good.

You took a cab to the restaurant, letting the hostess lead you to a table where Hotchner was already sitting. His eyes immediately filled with lust, making you smirk arrogantly. You gave a curt nod to the hostess and a tight smile, slipping off your jacket and draping it over the back of your chair before sitting down.

“Hello, Hotchner. Miss me?” you asked sardonically, grinning wickedly.

He didn’t give you the satisfaction of an outright reaction, instead making himself impassive. “Good evening, y/n. I hope this wasn’t too much trouble for you, although you wouldn’t have said yes if it was,” Hotchner stated bluntly. You just rolled your eyes, picking up the menu and opening it to look at what was being served as well as the drink options. To your surprise, a waiter came by, setting two wine glasses down and uncorking a bottle of something that looked expensive and then filling your glasses, letting the wine sit on the table between you and walking away.

“Wine?” you asked, arching a brow in amusement.

“Not a fan of wine?” he asked, arching a brow himself, although he was thoroughly less impressed or amused.

You shrugged, picking up your glass and swirling the wine around before taking a small sip. “I don’t mind wine. I usually just don’t drink it. My preferences lie elsewhere,” you replied.

His lips barely curved as he suppressed a knowing grin, taking a sip of his wine. He hadn’t struck you as wine guy, but at least he had taste. “Good to know. Tonight is all about expectations and preferences,” he commented. You nodded your understanding, taking another sip of your wine and then looking back over the menu. Everything was expensive, the plates ranging from 25 dollars to 60 dollars.

“Hotchner, as much as I hate you,” you began, “I cannot let you pay for a meal that is this expensive on my behalf. I’ll pay for my own.”

His face hardened, his eyes narrowing as means to intimidate you, “no, you will not be. I offered to pay, and I will as we are meeting at my discretion. This won’t happen very often, anyway.”

“Hotchner. No. Everything is incredibly expensive. You will not be paying for me,” you declared assertively.

“Y/n do not do this with me. It won’t lead anywhere you want it to,” he said ominously, threatening punishment incredibly subtly. You opened your mouth to protest and then closed it because of the withering look he gave you. “Good. I prefer using physical ‘contracts’ to do these sorts of things. It won’t exactly be a contract, but it is a list of things you prefer or are curious about and then we compare and negotiate terms.”

“You really take these things seriously, don’t you?” you asked rhetorically, leaning back in your chair and smirking.

“I like having clear expectations. I don’t usually make impulsive decisions and do one-night stands. I don’t want to continue and then hurt you or get hurt in the long run. No one likes being coerced into doing something they don’t want to do or are unsure of,” Hotchner explained seriously.

You nodded, “I appreciate that. While I think you’re insufferable, you make it a point to make sure everything is safe and consensual. I respect that.”

“Thank you.”

A waiter interrupted the both of you, setting down a basket of bread and then looking at the both of you expectantly. “Are you ready to order, gentleman?” he asked. Hotchner looked at you pointedly and you nodded. He turned to the waiter, ordering a steak for himself. You ordered a steak, garlic mashed potatoes, and seasonal vegetables. You gave another tight smile to the waiter and handed him your menu, returning your attention to the man in front of you. He was wearing a basic black suit, white dress shirt, and a dark gray tie. Even in professional attire he wore every day he screamed sex appeal.

“Where were we?” Hotchner asked, picking up a piece of bread and ripping it in half, setting his napkin in his lap and starting to spread butter on his bread.

You picked up a piece of bread yourself, “clear expectations.”

He grinned, “right. I’m not going make my expectations drastic in anyway. You have a life, and this will be purely physical. My work schedule is more hectic, and I can get called away at any moment, but I know for a fact workdays will not be a good idea. Our jobs are too demanding for that.”

“Agreed,” you said, nodding.

“I was thinking Saturdays. One or two a month. You and I either share a hotel room or you can come to my apartment and I spend Saturday fucking you. You then go home that night or Sunday morning.”

Your eyes widened in momentary surprise as his words. Hotchner used the word fucking so casually you found it amusing. He wasn’t one for language like that, so you seized the opportunity when you had it. “Language, Hotchner,” you mocked, “we like to keep things professional around here.”

His lips twisted into a small smile. Leaning into the table he said, “watch your manners before I drag you somewhere private and fix your behavior for you.”

You smirk, lifting your wine glass but leaning in to reciprocate his low tone, “no.” With that, you lean back in your chair again and take a sip of your wine. Sexual tension began crackling to life in the air between you as you battled each other for the upper hand.

His smile grew wider, dark dominance exuding from the small gesture effortlessly. “If you were looking to earn yourself a punishment, you’ve managed to do just that,” he informed you, leaning back again and taking a bite of his bread.

“Wonderful,” you taunted sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

“Just keep digging yourself a hole, y/n. I have no problem correcting you in private.”

You narrowed your eyes, “if you want me to understand how to behave, you need to give me clear cut rules. You have yet to do that. I am more than willing to contest punishment considering I have no understanding as to what your demands or expectations are.”

He had the liberty to look impressed, amusement flaring in his eyes. “You might have missed your calling as a lawyer,” he joked, making you scowl and feign distaste.

“I would rather be technical analyst, Hotchner. Suits me more,” you reply.

“Why did you become a technical analyst?”

You shrugged. “I always had a thing for computers, and I figured I might as well use it to help the federal government and help catch child predators. It can be difficult, especially given the issue of systemic racism and lack of criminal justice reform. But something makes it worth it so here I am,” I explained, “why are you the unit chief of the BAU?”

“I was originally a prosecutor. I wanted to stop cases before they got to my desk. I was originally a swat member and then moved to the Seattle field office for a year before finally getting into the BAU and helping build it. I rose through the ranks and became unit chief. My career cost me my ex-wife and my son, though. My job was more important to me in the end. I do the best I can,” he said, becoming more withdrawn.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” you say, trying to offer an olive branch.

“No, no. It’s alright. I take pride in my work,” he said, waving your worry off. The waiter came over, setting down plates and then walking off. You took a fork and knife and started on your food, trying to escape the guilty feeling from getting him to talk about his ex-wife and kid. You let out a small carnal groan. The steak was damn good, seasoned and cooked perfectly. Hotchner chuckled, “that good?”

“Better than I could make,” you shot back, slicing into it again.

“Would you like to discuss rules now or after we finish eating?”

“Now. Might as well talk about what we are here for rather than make awkward small talk,” you reply.

He swallowed, nodding. “I will lay out my rules and once I’m done, we can negotiate changes and adapt rules based off need,” he explained.

“Understood.”

He nodded, going on, “First, you will address me correctly. We can discuss extra honorifics depending on your interests, but ‘sir’ will become a well-used word in your vocabulary. Within scenes and outlined situations, you will address me as such. Failure to do so will result in punishment.” He gave you a pointed look, asking if you understood and were willing to let him continue. You nodded, stifling a laugh. “Second, you touch yourself and you climax at my discretion but only on days we have arranged to have sex. Anything more than that would be absurd as this is a purely physical relationship. Third, aftercare is a must. You will not get out of it, nor will I. I don’t want either of us to send the other into a drop.”

“Smart,” you commented, agreeing with the rule.

“We can discuss specifics and needs after scenes when I give you the contract and we discuss it further. Anyways, fourth, you do what I say, when I say. No arguments. Failure to do so will—”

“Will result in punishment. Yes, I know. Anything else?” you ask, giving him a fake smile.

He took a sip of his wine, purposely withholding an answer. “Yes. Maybe if you wouldn’t interrupt, I would get on with it,” he admonished, his glare steely and cold.

“As you were saying,” you retort, smirking at him.

“Yes. As I was saying, you do what I say. You don’t do things I tell you not to do. I call the shots; you listen to my commands. Fifth, safe words. We already have some established, but if you wish to change them or use a different system, we can discuss that. I also have the power to safe word, should I need to.”

“Of course. The system we are using is fine with me. It’s easy to remember and not complicated. We will have to establish non-verbal safe words, though, should you wish to do scenes that aren’t verbal,” you said, becoming more serious. Safety was a priority and you were glad he was taking it seriously.

“We can discuss that within the contract. Sixth, I reserve the right to make decisions for you. If we go out, I can decide what you wear, what you eat, if you speak. I maintain the final word in any situation within the period we are together. I won’t do this often, but I still can. If you argue or become defiant, I will punish you. Finally, when we are together, you are mine. I am a possessive man. Again, I’m not asking you for anything intimate or for you to stop seeing other people should those opportunities arise; I’m simply saying that between the hours I have you, you belong to me. I don’t share. If you were to flirt with someone else or tease me, I will not tolerate it. Those are my rules.”

You nodded, setting your fork and knife on your plate. “I’m fine with those rules. I have slight issue with the sixth rule, though. I would like to maintain some sort of power within decisions. I don’t like when my input about myself is ignored, or for lack of a better term, ‘trumped.’ I need some sort of control over something,” you explain.

He nodded, “alright. That will only be used as punishment or when previously discussed, then.”

“Deal.”

He flagged down the waiter for the check, letting him clear the table while we spoke. He leaned down, pulling out a manila folder which presumably had the contract in it. From your understanding, it wasn’t a contract. It was really just a questionnaire. You took it from him. “When do you want to discuss terms and finalize our arrangement?” you ask, standing and picking up your jacket as he finished paying the tab.

“Call me when you finish going over the documents and we can meet again. Publicly or privately.”

“Great. I’ll be in touch. And thank you for dinner. It was nice. If you want to do dinner again and you want me to pay, don’t expect this caliber of restaurant. I don’t make as much as you,” you joke, reaching out for a handshake as though you two had done business rather than talked about contractual sex. You shrugged into your jacket, walking to the door with Hotchner behind you and flagging a cab.

“I look forward to negotiating, y/n,” Hotchner said, giving you a polite smile and then walking towards his car.

You went home with a manila folder detailing kinks and agreements, wondering how you were going to have a relationship with Spencer Reid while fucking his boss, Aaron Hotchner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMK what you think and thank you for the support on this work! I really appreciate it!  
> Until next time  
> -mitchmatch ;)


	6. Dark Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on updating this work once a week. Friday's are update day for this work! Thank you for your patience. Love you guys :)

_**“I used to like liquor to get me inspired,** _   
_**But you look so beautiful, my new supplier,** _   
_**I used to like smoking to stop all the thinking,** _   
_**But I found a different buzz…”** _   
_**-High Enough – K.Flay** _

* * *

You had waited a few days to open the manila folder and examine the contract Hotchner had given you. You were tired but restless, unable to turn your mind off after a particularly hard case. You sat down on your couch, spreading the papers on your coffee and table and picking up a pen, twirling it between your fingers. The first page a mere explanation of what the contract was and who it was between. You flipped the page, delving into what was labeled ‘Rules and Expectations of the Submissive Partner.’ Should be fun.

**_Rules and Expectations of the Submissive Partner:_ **   
_1\. The submissive will address the dominate as ‘sir’ or any other titles discussed and agreed upon between each party during scenes and times previously discussed between both parties._   
_2\. The submissive **must** treat the dominate with the upmost respect and use proper manners._   
_This includes:_   
_• No derogatory language_   
_• No disrespectful/derogatory gestures_   
_• Immediate following of instructions/commands_   
_* Failure to do so will result in punishment of the dominates choosing.*_   
_3\. Communication **must** be used between both partners. The submissive partner will respond with one of the three safe words (red, yellow, or green) to communicate issues or comfort within a scene. The words yellow and red may be used without explicit permission should the submissive need to address a problem or stop the scene entirely. The dominate has the right to safe word as well. Non-verbal safe words will correspond with knocks or taps (three for red, two for yellow, one for green). This rule is **non-negotiable.**_   
_4\. Aftercare will be practiced between both partners. Specific needs are listed in sections found below. This rule is **non-negotiable.**_   
_5\. The submissive will not pleasure themselves unless given expressed permission by the dominate while under the dominates authority._   
_6\. The submissive must not argue when ordered to do something. Failure to complete tasks or follow instructions will result in punishment at the discretion of the dominate._   
_7\. The dominate reserves the right to revoke freedoms should they find it necessary or as they see fit. This includes:_   
_• Choosing clothing_   
_• Choosing meals_   
_• Schedules_   
_• Speaking or talking in both private and public_   
_8\. The submissive has the power to end this agreement should they see fit or ask to renegotiate terms should they see a need to. The dominate **must** respect this decision or agree to a renegotiation before the next session or scene._

  
**_*Once this contract is ended, there will not be an opportunity to re-enter the relationship with the dominate. Voiding the contract ends the relationship permanently.*_ **

You found no need to change anything besides the one rule you had discussed over dinner. Crossing out the seventh rule and adding notes about changes the both of you had agreed upon. You moved on to the next section titled ‘Rules and Expectations of the Dominate Partner’.

_**Rules and Expectations of the Dominate Partner:** _   
_1\. The dominate will address the submissive by names agreed upon between both parties and will not address them by names the submissive has voided from the contract._   
_2\. The dominate **must** respect the submissive’s choice to safe word. This is **non-negotiable.**_   
_3\. The dominate **must** respect the hard limits and discuss scenes involving soft limits for the safety and wellbeing of the submissive partner. This is **non-negotiable.**_   
_4\. Aftercare will be practiced between both partners. Specific needs are listed in sections found below. This rule is non-negotiable._   
_5\. Communication **must** be used between both partners. The dominate must check in regularly to gauge the safety and headspace of the submissive partner. The dominate has the right to safe word as well. Non-verbal safe words will correspond with knocks or taps (three for red, two for yellow, one for green). This rule is **non-negotiable.**_   
_6\. The dominate has the power to end this agreement should they see fit or ask to renegotiate terms should they see a need to. The submissive **must** respect this decision or agree to renegotiation before the next session or scene._

**_*Once this contract is ended, there will not be an opportunity to re-enter the relationship with the submissive. Voiding the contract ends the relationship permanently.*_ **

You saw nothing wrong there nor did you see anything that needed notes, so you moved onto the more interesting part of the entire contract. The section titled ‘Honorifics and Proper Titles of Each Partner.’ Beside each was a line to check mark each that you deemed acceptable.

 _ **Honorifics and Proper Titles of Each Partner:**_  
 ** _Dominate:_**  
• Sir (this term is non-negotiable).  
• Master  
• Daddy  
• Mister/Mr.  
• Other (list below)

By other you wrote ‘insufferable bastard’ and then check it as well as sir and moved on. You didn’t see the need for any other title.

 _ **Submissive:**_  
• Pet  
• Puppy/Kitten  
• Little One  
• Baby/Baby boy  
• Sweetheart/Darling/Honey  
• Angel  
• Other (list below)

You checked the ones you were ok with, which were basically the ones he already used when you fucked the first two times. You also wrote your name under other, signifying you were fine with him using your name during scenes if he wanted. You didn’t plan on calling him Aaron, but he could call you y/n. You moved on again, getting to two identical lists but finding different titles above each. ‘Hard Limits’ and ‘Soft Limits.’

_**Hard Limits:** _   
**• _Restraints_**   
_(a) Rope_   
_(b) Handcuffs_   
_(c) Silk/Ties_   
_(d) Zip cuffs_   
_(e) Spreader bars_

• _**Sex Toys**_  
 _(a) Butt plugs_  
 _(b) Vibrators_  
 _(c) Dildos_  
 _(d) Chastity_  
 _(e) Paddles, floggers, canes, riding crops, etc._  
 _(i) Please list any that are hard limits:_  
 _(f) Nipple Clamps_  
 _(g) Other:_

• **_Other:_**  
 _(a) Sensation play? (Wax, ice, etc)_  
 _(i) Please list any that are hard limits:_  
 _(b) Fisting?_  
 _(c) Edging/Overstimulation?_  
 _(d) Dynamics?_  
 _(i) Please list any that are hard limits:_  
 _(e) Impact play?_  
 _(f) Public sex?_  
 _(g) Blindfolds/Sensory deprivation?_  
 _(h) Collars/Leashes?_  
 _(i) Predator/Prey?_  
 _(j) CNC?_  
 _(k) Degradation/Humiliation?_  
 _(i) Please list any terms that cannot be used here:_  
 _(l) Praise?_  
 _(m) Body writing?_  
 _(n) Pictures/Recording of Sessions?_  
 _(o) Knife play/Weapons of any kind?_  
 _(i) Please list any that are hard limits:_  
 _(p) Other:_

The soft limits were the same. You went through filling things out and making notes, trying to prepare for another long discussion about this. **[A/N: I probably missed kinks and shit, but I don’t care. Leave me alone].** The next sections was titled ‘Aftercare Needs and Specifics’ and you went through it.

_**Aftercare Needs and Specifics:** _   
_Please list aftercare needs to give the dominate a good conceptualization of how to properly maintain well-being between both parties after a scene or session:_

You filled the section out, making notes to compare to Hotchner to ensure he wouldn’t go into dom drop after scenes and sessions. If he was taking this seriously, you were going to respect that and make sure you respected his well-being just as much. It was only fair, and it was needed if the sex was going to be angry and rough. You picked up the papers, putting them in order and putting them back in the manila folder, taking a deep breath as you tried to figure out how the hell you had gotten into this. You weren’t necessarily complaining, you were just trying to wrap your head around it all. You set the folder on the coffee table and got up, deciding to go to bed and get some sleep before you went back and jumped into another case for your unit.

* * *

You woke up early the next morning, your alarm blaring in your ear. You smacked it, turning it off and groaning, knowing you have to get work done. You rolled out of bed, padding over to your closet and picking clothes out. You took a quick shower and changed into a pair of black slacks and a black turtleneck, throwing a gray jacket over top for the sake of contrast. Matte black dress shoes were next and as well as your ID and a silver wristwatch with a bold royal blue face. You feed Luna and said good morning to her, letting her rub all over your slacks and cover them in hair. Once you finally made it out the door, you were right on schedule to arrive at work on time. The train ride and walk was relatively uneventful, well, until you got to the federal building that is and someone ran face first into you, slashing scalding hot coffee all over you.

“Fucking great,” you mutter under your breath, looking up to find the one and only Doctor Spencer Reid trying to stammer out an apology while trying not to laugh. You bit your bottom lip, trying not to smack him as well as laugh at the situation. “Well, Doctor, it seems we meet yet again.”

Spencer chuckled softly, nodding as he tried to stop his fit of laughter. “Sorry, y/n. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to spill coffee all over you. I can pay to get the sweater replaced or cleaned if I need to,” Spencer offered sincerely.

You shook your head, waving him off, “no need. You’re lucky I like you or else I would have smacked you instead.”

Spencer scowled. “You would physically attack me because I spilled coffee on you and then offered to pay to get the shirt cleaned?” Spencer asked, faking disapproval.

You shrugged, “I can still smack you if you’d like.”

“No, no. I’m quite alright, y/n,” Spencer responded quickly, shaking his head.

“Well, I did owe you coffee so maybe one day we can pay each other back by having a coffee date,” you suggest, arching a brow with a grin on your face. His face lit up like a Christmas tree, a smile spreading across his face at the idea.

“I would like that. How about Sunday morning?”

“Sounds perfect to me, doctor,” you replied, a sly smile on your face, “but if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work as do you. Tell Hotchner I said hello.”

His face showed off his bewilderment and confusion at the statement, but he nodded, “I will. Bye, y/n.”

“Bye, Spencer.”

* * *

By the time you had gotten home, you felt more grounded and back to your normal self. The last few days you had been off, but that was because the job was terribly stressful and because you had to call someone you loathed about a sexual contract between the two of you. You left everything in its proper place in your entry way and then walked into your kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of scotch and knocking back the contents before pouring another glass and walking over to your couch. You set the tumbler on the coffee table and pulled out your phone, taking the manila folder from where it was resting and staring at it. Taking a deep breath, you dialed, holding the phone to your ear and waiting for the sinfully deep voice that was Hotchner’s to answer.

“Hotchner.”

You smirked, “hello, you insufferable asshat. Miss me?”

“I miss putting you in your place, y/n. I assume you’ve called to arrange our negotiation?” Hotchner said, the creaking of a leather desk chair fading in the background.

“Yes, I have. I would prefer to do that in private. I don’t like disclosing information about my sex life in public spaces,” you say, taking another sip of your scotch and waiting for a suggestion on where to meet.

“I can book a hotel room, or we can meet at my apartment. We can also meet at your place if you’d prefer that. This is at your discretion, y/n.”

“Hotel room. Nothing overtly personal, if you don’t mind. Split the cost of the room and I can pay half. It’s only fair.”

“No. I will pay for it. End of discussion. When would you like to meet?”

You scowl, “not the end of that discussion, Hotchner. I don’t need you to pay for everything. This is an agreement between two partners and will not be one sided. I will pay for half of the room. Now, the discussion is over.”

“Don’t be a brat, y/n,” Hotchner reprimanded.

Your eyes hardened with frustration as you dug in your heels, determined to be treated as an equal in this conversation. “I’m not being a brat, Hotchner. I’m being responsible. I _will_ pay for half of the room given we will be sharing it. You paid for dinner, so if anything, I should be booking the room and paying for it in full,” you said firmly, leaving no room for arguments or discussions.

“Fine. You can pay for half of the room. When would you like to meet?” Hotchner declared, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“Friday evening is always open for me,” you say, smirking as you reveled in slight triumph.

“Fine with me. 7pm. Don’t be late. I’ll send you the room information,” Hotchner said, his words clipped and laced with frustration.

You smirked, deciding to toy with him. “Frustrated, Hotchner?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Why? Because I won’t let you have your way?” you taunted, teasing him with the same words he had used a week ago in bed.

“No. It’s more because your being an arrogant brat who thinks pissing me off and defying me is entertaining and you continue to do it because I can’t get to you and do anything about it,” Hotchner explained, his tone cold like ice.

“Am I?” you leer, taking another sip of your scotch.

“Yes.”

You shrugged, sighing as you acted like you were thinking about what to do. “Well… I think… that’s a personal problem, Hotchner and maybe if you would pull that stick out of your ass, you would be able to get over it,” you offer sweetly, smiling to yourself.

He let out a low laugh, the dark sound marred with unrelieved tension and frustration. The laugh faded, turning into a seductive hum that was smooth and delectably sinful. “Don’t get too comfortable, y/n. Watch yourself,” he advised.

“I do what I want, Hotchner,” you shot back, testing his will.

“You do what you want on your own time. When you speak to me, you do what I want, brat. Don’t forget it,” Hotchner warned darkly.

“Do I? Well, it seems as though you aren’t currently here in my apartment right now, so I’m pretty sure I do whatever the hell I please,” you retort bitterly.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you sweetheart?” Hotchner asked, his frustration turning into dominate amusement at the thoughts of what he wanted to do to you.

“What are you going to do? Get pissed off?” you asked sarcastically, “I’m shaking.”

“I plan on doing more than that if you don’t shut your damned mouth and start showing me some respect,” he threatened vaguely.

You scoffed, “empty threats won’t work with me, asshat.”

“We both know they aren’t empty threats. That’s why you’re practically begging for more,” Hotchner quipped, making you scowl in frustration.

“God, you’re fucking insufferable,” you commented dryly, not confirming nor denying his words.

“Probably because you aren’t used to people not dealing with your ridiculousness. I’m not insufferable, I’m simply not tolerant of your behavior. It’s not my fault you’re a brat,” he fired back, his voice dripping amusement.

“It’s not my fault you haven’t proved you are worthy of respecting,” you argued.

He tsked. “Come now, y/n,” he said, his voice a seductive purr, “be a good boy and start behaving yourself. I know you want to.”

You laughed at that, “Jesus, you’re fucking stupid, Hotchner.”

“Make another comment like that and I will show up at your apartment and teach you a lesson,” he threatened insidiously.

“You wouldn’t,” you taunted, laughing.

“Oh, I absolutely would, y/n.”

“I think you’re a fucking liar and a fucking moron, Hotchner. I’ll see you at 7pm on Friday night. Good night,” you said, hanging up the phone and laughing. You knocked back the rest of your drink, dropping the folder on the coffee table and standing up. You walked back into your bedroom, changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt, hanging up your slacks and throwing the turtleneck into the laundry to be dealt with later. Your jacket would have to go to a dry cleaner, but that was fine so long as the stain came out and you didn’t have to buy a new jacket. You walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, laughing to yourself as Luna chased something around on the floor.

You were debating what to make for dinner when there was a knock at the door. You looked at the door, furrowing your brow. “There is no way,” you whispered, walking over to answer. You opened it, stunned by the sight of Hotchner standing there somewhat angrily. Before you could fully process, he had pushed you back into the room and closed the door behind himself, a hand around your throat squeezing lightly as he glared down at you. Your mouth was slightly agape out of pure shock. You legitimately thought he was bluffing but here he was, standing before you with a hand around your throat and piercing brown eyes staring directly into yours. His mouth curved into a wicked smile at your disarray at the sight of him.

“When I say I’m going to do something, I mean it, y/n. And now, I’m going to put that filthy mouth of yours to good use,” he growled, grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and dragging you over to the arm of the couch. He pulled you in front of him, his body leaning against the arm of the couch so he could brace against it. He forced you to your knees easily. You were still stunned, staring up at him like a deer caught in headlights. “Is this ok?” he asked, softening for a moment.

“Y-Yeah, I just didn’t…” you trail off.

“You didn’t think I would actually take the time to come over here and make you choke on my dick for being an arrogant and disrespectful brat,” he finished, smirking down at you as he ran a hand through your hair. He was already sporting wood, a bulge growing in his slacks.

You nodded slightly, closing your mouth and swallowing. “Yeah, basically. Just given your job. Sorry, I’m just a little surprised, that’s all,” you say, confused as to why you were explaining yourself in the first place.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, y/n. I can leave and deal with this in other ways. Answer me truthfully, please. Do you want this, yes or no?” he asked solemnly, taking on a serious demeanor.

“Yes. I’m not a moron, Hotchner. That’s you,” you retort with a sly grin, shaking off the last of your surprise.

He growled, gripping your hair and pulling you up against his erection. “Just for that, I’m going to make you gag and choke and fuck that pretty little throat and dirty little mouth until you can’t fucking talk.” You swiped your tongue across your bottom lip, incredibly fond of the idea. He tugged harshly on your hair, pulling you up more. “Well, get to work, brat.”

You smirked, “I don’t do what you want, Hotchner. Go fuck yourself.”

_Slap._

“Do you want to try that again, brat?” he asked harshly.

“No sir,” you replied, your fingers working on his belt and slacks. He pushed his pants down enough to free the tails of his shirt and his cock. He was hot and pulsing in your palm, a wicked smile on your face as you peered up at him. “How long have you been hard?” you questioned innocently, spitting into the palm of your hand and starting to stroke him slowly.

“Since you said I wouldn’t come over here and reign in your filthy attitude,” Hotchner sneered, a small moan escaping his lips as you stroked him. You spit into your hand again, stroking your spit into his cock as you teased him, purposely taking your time. “You better start putting that mouth to work, slut,” Hotchner growled in warning. You nodded, licking up the underside of his cock slowly, drawing out a shaky breath from the man above you. From here he didn’t look so put together. He looked hot and bothered and easier to manipulate. You took the tip of cock in your mouth but didn’t go any further back, swirling your tongue around the end as you teased him. You popped off, smirking at him as you spit into you hand to stroke him.

“What do you want, Hotchner?” you asked teasingly.

_Slap._

“You don’t get to tease me, bitch. Open your fucking mouth, slut,” he ordered gruffly. You arched a brow, smirking as you told him ‘make me’ with your eyes.

_Slap._

“Open your fucking mouth, otherwise I will bend you over this couch and you won’t be able to sit down for a month,” Hotchner warned, a snarl ghosting his lips. You opened your mouth this time, knowing what he was threatening. He shoved himself down your throat, one hand braced on the arm of the couch while the other held the back of your head and forced you down on him. You gagged, unprepared for the sudden intrusion as tears threatened to sting your eyes. After a few seconds he let you off, his fingers laced in your hair so he could essentially pull you wherever the hell he wanted. You took in air and then were choking on him again, instinctively swallowing around him. He threw his head back, moaning, “fuck, y/n. You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

He pulled back out, the tip of his cock still in your mouth as you were given a moment to breathe. You licked at the precum beading out of the tip and tried to push forward to take more of him but couldn’t, the grip on your hair holding you firmly in place. He laughed roughly, “you really want my dick down your throat, don’t you? You pathetic, braindead fucking slut.” A twinge of anger glimmered in your eyes, the degrading comment fueling both sexual need and anger. He snapped his hips forward, pulling back slowly and then rolling his hips as he fucked your mouth and throat. You swallowed around him and relaxed your throat, hollowing your cheeks out to suck him harder.

“I’m going to cum down your fucking throat and your going to fucking swallow it all like a good little slut,” Hotchner snarled, moaning as he got closer and closer to climax. You moaned in response, your nails digging into his clothed thighs. “ _Fuck_ ,” Hotchner said breathlessly, cumming violently down your throat. You swallowed around him again, swallowing his cum as he rode out his orgasm. He started softening and pulled out, sweat beading on his forehead, his raven hair disheveled and sex mussed. You were panting, lust and hunger glittering in your eyes as you looked at him expectantly. He smirked, his own chest heaving, “It’s funny that you think you’re getting anything.”

You scowled, your eyes hardening. “The fuck do you mean?” you demanded, exhaling.

“I’m not going to touch you, brat. You don’t fucking deserve it. I would tell you not to make yourself cum until Friday night, but I know you aren’t going to listen to my instructions anyway. If you want to cum, you have to do that yourself,” he explained with a grin, tucking himself back into his briefs.

“You are such a god damn prick,” you mutter under your breath.

_Slap._

You cupped your cheek in your palm, glowering at him. He became even more amused, his eyes fiery with lust. “Watch your mouth and I won’t slap you. Behave yourself and I reward you. All you have to do is be a good boy for me and submit and you’ll get what you want,” Hotchner lectured, running his fingers through your own sex mussed hair. He walked to your fridge, retrieving two bottles of water and coming back to you where you were still on the floor, watching him out of pure bewilderment. He set the water on the coffee table and pulled you up, sitting on the couch and sitting you in his lap. You froze up, uncomfortable with what this was suggesting. He ignored your tension, leaning over and picking up a water bottle, thrusting it into your hands. “Drink,” he ordered in a whisper.

You uncapped the water, trying not to focus on how hard you were and knocking back some of the water. One of his fingers caressed the curve of your jawline, tracing it, his fingers sliding down to the column of your throat. “Are you alright, y/n? I was quite rough with you,” he asked quietly, his fingers exploring your body but avoiding your groin.

You nodded, clenching your jaw, “yeah, I’m alright.”

He grinned against your skin, his fingers slipping under your shirt and splaying against your stomach. “Your mouth is fucking amazing. It’s a shame you can’t behave yourself or I’d fuck you into this god damn couch,” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. You were aching and ridiculously needy. More needy than you were willing to admit. “I’d make you cum until you were screaming for me to stop,” he went on, his voice low, “I’d fuck you until you couldn’t fucking walk. But I can’t do that, can I? You need to learn who runs the show here.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, a low growl breaking free from your chest. You weren’t going to beg him. You had more self-respect and control than that. You eyed the manila folder, thinking about plenty of new names you wanted to call him under the ‘other’ section.

You sat in his lap, letting his hands explore as much of you as he could get to while you slowly watched yourself soften. You were still unsatisfied, but you weren’t going to get anything tonight. You knew that. “I need to get home,” Hotchner murmured, his finger coming back up your neck and tracing your jawline again.

“Alright. You can leave if you would let me up. Just saying,” you remarked sarcastically. He laughed, releasing you from his grasp. He got up, walking towards the door.

“7pm, Friday. Don’t be late.”

And with that, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMK what you think. Thanks for reading!


	7. Professionalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took this long to update. i have been stuck in a depressive episode so rolling out of bed takes more energy than it should, let alone writing a chapters for multiple works. Here you go. This chapter is set up for the next chapter. Sorry if it sucks, I just needed to put something out.

**_“In the middle of the night, when I dream of getting you_ **   
**_Grab my hairs going crazy thinking what I’d do to you_ **   
**_I’d rip off all your clothes as I’m breaking down the door_ **   
**_I’d make you beg for more as I pin you to the floor_ **   
**_Cause you’d be screaming, oh, oh, oh_ **   
**_Baby don’t stop, no no, no no_ **   
**_We can fire up the night_ **   
**_Make me feel alive_ **   
**_Fire up the night.”_ **   
**_-Fire Up the Night – New Medicine_ **

* * *

You were left reeling when Hotchner left your apartment, trying to figure out if that actually just happened, or if you were in a particularly real feeling lucid dream. Now you were conflicted as to what to do as the man had essentially fucked you over. If you didn’t get off, you were unsatisfied, and he basically predicted that you wouldn’t be able to satisfy your needs without him. If you did get off, you were more than likely going to still be unsatisfied and he would have been right about you getting off simply for spite. One option made it seem like you had no self-control while the other made you look like you needed him too much. You hated both options and silently cursed Hotchner. The arrogant prick had made sure to leave you in a lose-lose situation while he got exactly what he wanted.

You sighed, biting your lip as you thought about what to do. Then a thought struck you. Spencer. You could easily fuck Hotchner over by simply growing out your relationship with Spencer. You genuinely liked him, and you wouldn’t have to do any work to work Hotchner up, it would simply be a side effect of the relationship. You smirked, happy to play the long game rather than the short game. It was like sex filled emotional chess. You decided against getting off, preferring to show self-control rather than seeming like you were so needy you needed to cum right after he left.

You walked back to your kitchen, continuing where you left off as though he didn’t show up at your door at all, pushing all thoughts of Aaron Hotchner out of your mind for the moment.

* * *

_***Time jump to Friday*** _

Friday came too fast for your liking. While you weren’t necessarily uncomfortable or intimidated in anyway, you weren’t your usually witty self. You were saving your energy, so to speak. You were going to need it to play Hotchner’s games, especially given this was going to be a blatantly personal conversation that he was going to treat more like a business transaction rather than a sexual contract for a purely sexual relationship. You said good morning to Andre, unlocking the door to your office and stepping inside, only to find a cup of coffee perched on your desktop. You narrowed your eyes, confused as to where it had come from.

“Andre. Come here for a second,” you called, waving the light-skinned man over.

“Yeah?” he asked, stopping next to you and eyeing the cup of coffee.

“Where the hell did this come from?” you asked, pointing to it.

Andre shrugged, walking into your office and picking it up, laughing when he eyes something. “Come over here and find out. The guy left a note, dumbass,” Andre laughed, setting the cup of coffee out of the way. You sauntered over, finding a post-it note underneath the cup of coffee.

_“Y/n-_   
_Sorry for spilling coffee all over you. I figured I’d get a jump start on making it up to you. Here’s some coffee. One of your coworkers let me in. Tell me if I got it right._   
_Sincerely,_   
_Doctor Spencer Reid”_

A grin spread across your face, a laugh leaving your chest. You looked up, grinning at Andre and picking up the cup of coffee. “Let’s see if the genius can profile what kind of coffee I drink,” you muttered, taking a sip. You nodded, swallowing the hot liquid and grinning.

“Did he get it right?” Andre asked, waiting for a confirmation or denial.

You nodded, “yep, yep he sure did. Cappuccino.”

Andre poked you with his elbow, sing-songing, “I think someone has a crush on you, y/n. And you like him back.”

“I sure do. He’s a sweet guy and I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to fuck him. But who cares about that? How’s it going with… whichever girl your falling all over this week?” you joke, smirking as you took another sip of your coffee.

He rolled his eyes, giving you an exasperated sigh. “Her name is Amanda and we have been together for a month now. I’m trying to go steady with her,” he explained, feigning exaggerated annoyance.

You nodded, “riiiiight.”

“Y/n, I will kick your ass,” he threatened playfully.

“Oh? Jokes on you, I’m into that shit,” you joked back.

He groaned, “don’t remind me, man.”

You smirked. “What?” you teased, “don’t like knowing the in’s and out’s of your best friend’s sex life?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, you goof,” he muttered, smacking you on the arm. You flipped him the bird, laughing as he exited your office to get back to work.

* * *

You worked straight to lunch, finally stopping and getting up from your computer. You scrubbed at your face, feeling slightly drained from staring at a screen for hours upon hours at a time without stopping. You picked up your jacket from the back of your office chair, shoving your wallet and credentials in your pockets. You exited your office, passing other cubicles and desks, stopping at Andre’s, and leaning against it. “Lunch?” you asked.

He sighed, looking down at the papers scattered all over his desktop. “I really shouldn’t. I need to work on this,” he said, looking up and trying to will you away. He would happily leave his desk if you asked again. He had done it before. Sometimes you wondered how Andre even got into the FBI.

“Alright. I’ll leave you alone. Do you want me to bring food back to you? I’m going to that Mexican place with the street tacos,” you said, looking at him expectantly.

“No, I’m alright. Now go away so I can work,” Andre insisted, waving you off. You laughed and walked away, walking towards the elevator. You hit the call button, waiting for the car to open so you could step inside. You looked down at your phone, looking at the calendar held inside, your eyes darting up momentarily when the car door opened. You took a step forward, only to collide with someone… again.

“Son of a—” you start, narrowing your eyes and looking up, only to find Hotchner’s hard gaze looking at you.

Katie was beside him, trying not to laugh. “Y/n, we have a new case. The BAU will be joining us. It’s bad,” she said, sobering up and turning more serious.

“How bad?” you asked, turning around, and starting to walk back towards the direction of your office.

“Entire ring,” Katie said, grimacing at the thought.

You looked back, a hard look on your face, “let’s nail the bastards.” You strode back towards your office, typing in the code for the door and walking inside, sitting at your desk, and starting to compile and open the case file. You printed copies for your unit, knowing that the Garcia had a copy and would give them to her team. You arranged them into files and then turned around, finding Hotchner standing in the doorway of your office. “What the hell do you want?” you asked, arching a brow in his direction as you continued gathering everything you would need for the case briefing.

“Keep it professional,” he warned, making you scowl.

“I am. Now get out of the way so I can let Katie start the case briefing,” you mutter, trying to brush him off and get out of the room so you could start working. His mere presence made you pissed off; his condescension palpable without a thing leaving his mouth in response.

“That’s not what I mean, y/n. Just don’t mention what’s going on between us,” he clarified.

You stopped then, staring at him with utter bewilderment on your face. Did he actually think you were that stupid? Alpha males. “Hotchner, I’m not risking my own career to see you get fucked over in yours. That would be entirely unfair to the both of us. I’m not that stupid. Now get the hell out of my way so I can do that job,” you explain coldly, a newfound hardness in your eyes.

He smirked, “ask nicely, y/n.”

“Move, or I will take that smirk and your words and shove them where the god damn sun don’t shine,” you threatened, physically pushing him out of your way. You didn’t hear what he muttered under his breath.

* * *

You and Garcia were a dream team if the BAU or CACU had ever seen one. You worked extremely well together. Her high energy kept you motivated and helped you push through all the gruesome details. Your snarky retorts and comments directed towards Hotchner kept her going because they were entertaining, so the quicker you both found info, the quicker she could hear your quips and bitter, passive-aggressive comments aimed at her boss.

“Have you found the leaders name and how we can infiltrate without being seen, yet?” Andre asked, serious although you had heard him ribbing with Morgan a few minutes ago.

You grimaced. “Not yet, but we are closer than we were. If the genius and his team can give us more to narrow the suspects down by we could probably get there faster, though,” you informed him, typing away as you kept digging in what seemed to be never ending internet-dirt.

“What a great idea, you dipshit,” Andre commented dryly.

“At least I’m actually doing something, unlike someone who’s even getting shown up by a ridiculous unit chief with a stick up his ass and tremendous ego,” you shot back, smirking at Andre’s ugly laugh. Then you heard the clearing of Hotchner’s throat and the abrupt end to your best friends laughing. You could feel Katie cackling on the other side, though, making you have to stifle a roar of laughter. “Need something, Hotchner? Or do you want people to go back to working since you seem to be getting in everyone’s way?” you asked sardonically, making Garcia’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates.

“Get back to working, y/l/n. This case is much more important than your petty arrogance and ridiculousness. I’m not your boss, but I’m still your superior. Call us when you have some kind of useful lead,” Hotchner ordered, ending the call.

“Fucking prick,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes.

“Y/n, sugar, you are really in for it now when he gets back here,” Garcia said, sipping her coffee from a unicorn mug.

You shrugged, waving her off as you typed on your keyboard, “not really. Katie thinks it’s funny and he isn’t my boss, so I’m not worried about it. This is the second, and probably last time, I’m ever going to have to work with you guys. He can cope.”

* * *

You were writing out your report to hand to both Katie and Hotchner when they got back, knowing that Hotchner would be an ass about it. You understood that he did it to buy himself time last time; he used the report as an excuse to proposition you into a one-night stand that was about to turn into a monthly thing. Hate sex. Angry, rough, hate-filled sex as a way to get your mind off your jobs. You knew the flight would only be an hour or two and you were going to need at least two hours to get this insanely long report over with. You sipped your coffee, your eyes wondering to where the empty cup Spencer had bought you lingering on your desk, almost completely empty and definitely cold. You smiled at it, sighing, and then returning to the work that was laid out on the screen in front of you.

Two and a half hours passed, and everyone was back, Andre knocking on your door and asking if you wanted a ride home. “No thanks, man. Go home and get some rest. I want to finish this and get all this out of my head,” you replied, a tight smile on your face as the images of children being put into disgusting sexual situations flashed through your head. This was always the worst part of the job. There was no escaping the images you saw. Ever.

“You sure? We can always stop and get a drink. The bar is still open,” Andre offered, leaning into the door jam.

You shook your head, turning back to your screen. “No thanks. See you Monday, Andre!” you called as he left to go home, shaking his own head. You kept working, working until the report was finished, the clock reading 2:46am. Great. You printed two copies of the report, picking them, and sorting them so both Unit Chiefs could have one. You dropped Katie’s in her office. She had already gone home, but that was normal after cases like these. You scrubbed at your face, taking the elevator to the floor for the BAU and stepping out to find Hotchner’s light still on but the rest of the bullpen vacant. You walked through the bullpen and up the stairs, your feet practically dragging as your tiredness rolled over you in waves.

You tapped your knuckle on the door, “Hotchner. I have your report.”

“Come in, y/l/n.” You opened the door, closing it behind you and stepping into the room, sauntering over to one of the chairs and flopping into it, tossing the case onto his desk and directly on top of what he was working on. He looked up, stone faced. A lazy smirk crossed your face, tiredness written all over you. He stayed silent, staring daggers into you.

You rolled your eyes in the most disrespectful way manageable. “Please just get on with it, Hotchner. I’m exhausted and need to get some sleep,” you admonished in an exasperated tone that screamed disrespect. A low growl left his throat, his patience visibly thinning by the second. You didn’t let it shake you, tired or not. You arched a brow, shooting him a message. In response he shot you a withering look, telling you were digging yourself a hole, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Please, take your silence and your glare and choke on it,” you muttered, waiting as your own patience began slipping away quickly and not so quietly.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his nostrils flaring as his anger grew.

“You heard me,” you mocked, an evil grin spreading across your face, your satisfaction tangible as he grew more and more upset. “Fucking _choke on it._ ”

He stood, rounding the desk, and putting his hand around your throat, his hand squeezing as his eyes began dilating. “You better watch your mouth when you talk to me, unless you want a repeat of a few nights ago, right here, right now,” he warned.

“We can’t and even then, I wouldn’t. I’m too tired for that right now. You can fucking deal with it, asshole,” you spat at him, slapping his hand away from your throat. You watched the fire in his eyes flare even higher as he reluctantly stepped back to lean against his desk, his eyes never leaving yours.

His jaw clenched, the silence hanging over the both of you for a few moments before he spoke again. “Let me take you home or to the hotel I have booked. We still need to negotiate, and we can cut time by doing it tomorrow morning should we share a room tonight,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Your trust issues and fear of intimacy rose in your chest, but you didn’t let it show, your poker face never slipping. “I don’t have my copy of the contract nor do I have a bag packed. We can share a room, but you’ll have to wait for me to pack my things,” you countered, not saying no but not saying yes either. You were hoping he would say no so you could get out of the possibility of forming an attachment to him already or at all.

He nodded, “alright with me. Let’s go.” You sighed, exiting his office with him and going down to your floor to collect your things before a sexually tense car ride with Aaron Hotchner.

* * *

You unlocked the door to your apartment, opening the door and shifting to let Hotchner hold it and let himself follow behind you. He came up with you even though you had insisted he didn’t need to. “I’m not letting you pull a fast one on me, y/n. You would do it and we both know it,” he had teased. You paid no mind to the cat who was eyeing up the other man in the room, your feet taking you down the hall to your bedroom and then immediately letting your body drop onto the bed with a groan. You just laid there for a moment, trying to force all the stress built up in your muscles dissipate into the sheets and mattress. You really just wanted to sleep but with Hotchner being only a room away you couldn’t. You got up reluctantly, pulling out a black gym bag and threw clothes and items you needed for pre and post sex inside it. Once you had everything together, you exited the bedroom only to find your cat rubbing all over Hotchner.

“Luna don’t mess with him. He’s a prick. I swear,” you muttered, walking to the coffee table grabbing the manila folder that sat among everything else on the coffee table. Hotchner chuckled, scratching the cat’s chin and grinning when she fell into his lap and looked up at him with happy eyes.

“She’s a cuddler, isn’t she?” he asked, continuing to pet your cat.

“Yeah. She’s a good cat. She was a stray and I was lucky enough to get to keep her,” you said, moving into the kitchen to refill her food bowls and give her more water in her water bowls. After you finished you moved back towards the couch, watching as he played with the cat in his lap, a smile on his face. He had a good smile, something he probably didn’t wear very often. You just stood there, letting him enjoy something as simple as playing with a cat. “You like cats, Hotchner?”

He nodded, glancing up to look at you, “yeah, I do. They are independent but still know when to give human beings attention. They love you when they need to, they don’t when they don’t.”

You scoffed, “tell that to her.” You pointed at the black cat, making her flip over and look at you with her best death glare, silently vowing to rip up the couch or knock something off one of the shelves in the room out of spite. You moved over to the door, your hand on the doorknob. You shot Hotchner a pointed look, “let’s go. She’ll be alright alone.”

He got up, sitting the cat on her feet on the floor gently and following you out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your patience. sorry if the chapter sucked, don't worry i hate it too


	8. Room 727

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for being dead for so long so here is another chapter lol

**_“I’m trying not to forget my words,_ **   
**_‘Cause when I’m around you,_ **   
**_I tend to keep changing my mind._ **   
**_I promised,_ **   
**_I promised myself not to slip back into old habit,_ **   
**_‘Cause heartbreak is savage,_ **   
**_And love is a bitch.”_ **   
**_-Love Is A Bitch – Two Feet_ **

* * *

You both slipped into Hotchner’s car, your bags tossed haphazardly into the backseat. You let your head fall against the headrest, your eyes closing as the car came to life under you. You sighed, letting your mind drift as you tried to get some sleep before who knows what. You didn’t know if you were going to actually get the chance to sleep or if you were going to be seduced and then fucked into the mattress until the early hours of the morning like last time. You were fine with either at this point, although sleep was preferred. You didn’t know how much you were actually going to get though, as cases that were as horrific as the one you had just finished often kept you up for the next few nights. It was hard to get the images of children being graphically hurt and abused like that out of your mind.

You tensed temporarily when you felt Hotchner’s strong hand find the inside of your thigh, his fingers working small circles into your denim clad skin. You relaxed in an instant, your eyes still closed as you simply let him drive and do whatever he was doing with his hand. When you felt his hand moving higher, you attempted half-heartily to slap it away. He shoved your hand away, continuing what he was doing without anymore resistance. His fingers snaked under your shirt and teased just under your waistband, a prelude to what he was no doubt planning in his mind as retribution for all the witty comments and bratty behavior. He wasn’t new to this type of thing. He knew exactly what he was doing and exactly what he wanted. His hand skimmed over you groin and returned to your thigh, making you tense again. Oh hell no.

“Hotchner, stop teasing,” you grumbled, not bothering to open your eyes and look at him.

He laughed, the sound making your frustration grow and then deflate out of exhaustion. “I’ll do whatever I please, y/n. Brats like you don’t get a say. I don’t want to hear another word out of you until we get to the hotel,” he said, amusement dripping from every single word.

“You are so fucking insufferable, you know that?” you comment snappily, “that was literally the only thing I have said the entire ride thus far. Please, get a fucking grip.”

You could feel his grin, his sadistic mind happy that you kept on defying him. He was happy about it. It gave him more reasons to punish you over and over and over again. “One day, you’ll learn not to talk back to me, y/n. I suggest you stop being so disrespectful before you earn yourself more punishment,” he offered. You knew he was serious about punishing you and you understood how much it had hurt the last time, so you decided to shut up for once. You were too tired to keep battling him. You could feel the smugness from his ‘triumph’ and it pissed you off, but you opted not to keep going. Either way you were giving him what he wanted, and you kind of hated that.

“Good boy,” he praised, his normal condescension missing from his tone. You didn’t even want to make a witty remark when he said it like that. He could tell that you were slightly instable, that something was eating at you and he was reacting accordingly. You were both silent as he drove, the sound of the air coming through the vents of the car filling the silence. You couldn’t quite tell if the silence was comfortable or not, your tiredness throwing you more off balance by the second. You were almost asleep when the car stopped for good, making you groan. You didn’t want to move. “Come on, y/n. You can sleep when we get to the room. We can negotiate in the morning,” Hotchner said, running a hand through your hair.

“You better be fucking serious or else it will be you getting the belt on the ass this time,” you bit out. He gave you a small smack to the cheek, warning you not to take that joke any further. “You act like I won’t,” you say, taunting him further.

“You won’t,” he stated bluntly. You rolled your eyes, glancing over to look at him with a raised brow. “Come on. Inside. You need sleep,” he said, dismissing the conversation and opening his door. You got out slower than he did, your legs dragging as you entered one of the more luxury hotels in the D.C. area. You took your bag from the backseat and the manila folder from the dashboard and dutifully followed Hotchner into the lobby of the hotel. The floor was white marble, gold accents lining the floor that was meant to speak of money and simplistic grandeur. You took a seat on one of the couches in the lobby area, giving you a direct view of Hotchner and the lady at the front desk.

You folded your left leg over your right knee, resting an elbow on top and let your chin rest on your curled knuckles. The lady at the desk looked from Hotchner and then over to you, trying her best not to stare. You smirked lazily, giving her a little wave and smirking even harder when Hotchner seemed to catch onto the situation taking place on either side of the lobby. He took the key, giving her a clipped thank you and picked up his bag, staring daggers into you yet again as he walked over to the bank of elevators and crooked his finger for you to follow. You bit your bottom lip to contain the laughter threatening to overtake you at the look on the poor woman’s face when she realized what exactly was going on. You could see her mouth a ‘sorry’ and you just waved again, walking to the bank of elevators.

You stood next to Hotchner, acting like you weren’t paying attention to him at all and looking at the elevator in front of you, waiting for it to open and grant you passage inside. You could feel his irritation at the small amount of flirting you managed to do, and you found it hilarious. He really needed to get over it. The doors slid open and you both stepped inside, Hotchner hitting the button for the seventh floor and stepping back, waiting for the doors to close. Then he was on you, his arm caging you to the back corner and his eyes piercing yours as you looked at him in shock. You hadn’t expected him to do that.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, hm?” he asked sharply.

“I waved at her, Hotchner. Calm down. You act like I asked her to fuck over the front desk,” you shot back.

“I don’t think so. You pride yourself on getting rises out of people. It’s a game to you. Don’t think I can’t see that cocky smirk on your face when you do things like that. Watch it, sweetheart, because I don’t put up with teases,” he warned, pushing back and straightening.

You scoffed, “whatever you say, asshat.” You caught the withering look he gave you but didn’t respond, smiling to yourself as you continually pushed his buttons. When the elevator opened, he led the way, opening the door to room 727 and practically pushing you inside it. You didn’t have much time to take in the room before you were being forced onto the bed and Hotchner’s mouth was on yours.

He pulled back, a heated look on his face mixed with his anger. “You’re mine, understand?” he growled, his teeth finding your ear and biting down.

“Since when?” you taunt, spurring him on despite your exhaustion. You wanted to get rid of this unstable feeling and this was how you planned on doing it. “Prove it,” you pushed, hoping he would fall for it.

“Are you sure?” he asked, losing his possessiveness for a moment.

“Yes, I am. Now fucking prove it, you bit—” You couldn’t even finish the word before his hand was coming across your face.

_Slap._

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, y/n,” he admonished harshly, “tell me the safe words.”

“Red: stop. Yellow: slow down, pause, fix something. Green: good to go,” you recalled from memory, looking at him with a bored expression on your face. He nodded, satisfied. You grinned, your hands flying to his shirt and unbuttoning the buttons, his jacket already discarded somewhere on the floor. You were tempted to rip the shirt clean off him, but you decided you weren’t comfortable enough doing things like that just yet. You tossed the shirt aside, smirking as you gripped his hips and grinded yourself against him. “I thought you said I’m not in charge. For being the dom in this relationship, you sure as fuck don’t act like it,” you smart, watching fire blaze in his deep brown eyes.

He gripped your hands with his and pushed them onto the bed, restraining you with on of his hands, his other grabbing your chin. “That’s four.”

“Four what?” you asked, suddenly confused.

“Four edges,” he clarified, making you groan. He chuckled darkly, swiftly changing the dynamic. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a mocking tone, “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? You were practically begging for punishment, teasing me and talking back and being an unruly little brat.”

“Well it obviously wasn’t what I was aiming for,” you complained.

“Well then maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to be a brat,” he fired back. You let out a growl of protest, your eyes darkening with displeasure. His hand slid down, curling possessively around your hip while his other hand released your wrists, his hand coming to settle at your throat and squeeze just barely, almost as if to say, ‘I’m here and you’re mine’. Two could play this game. You threw a leg over his hip, using the unexpected shift to flip you both, your hand immediately lacing in his hair and pulling his head back, baring his throat to you. “And what do you think your doing?” he asked lowly.

You leaned down, nipping teasingly at his neck and up his jawline. “I’m taking what I fucking want because you aren’t going to fucking give it to me,” you growl, slapping his hand away from your throat.

“You honestly think I’m going to let you dom?” he asked incredulously.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you think you are going to ‘let me’ do. I do what I want, when I want. The sooner you learn I don’t bow down to you, the better,” you taunt, looking down at him with an evil grin on your face.

He laughed, grinning himself. “That’s hilarious, sweetheart. But go on ahead, give it your best shot,” he said, placing his hands on your waist and sliding them up and down your sides.

“Oh, Hotchner. Bad choice of words,” you murmured, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “I have more experience being dominant than I do playing the submissive. Just for that, I should make you fucking scream. Maybe you’ll be the one who gets addicted to being put in their place.”

He flipped you back over, his knee finding the inside of your thighs and pressing against the apex, your erection grinding against him. Your breath caught in your throat, your pupils dilating as your lust grew. “My place?” he asked coldly, “my place is breaking down defiant, arrogant brats like you. You don’t get to talk about my place when you fall under me. You listen to me because I know what you want and what’s fucking best for you. Talk down to me like that again and I’ll make sure you don’t cum for days.” His tongue was in your mouth before you could respond to him, his fingers working on your belt while your worked on his, the both of you becoming more and more frantic.

He broke away first, pushing back to get his pants down while you did the same. You pushed up, though, trying to keep your mouth over his. “Fuck, I need this so fucking bad,” you mumbled against his skin.

“You didn’t cum after I used your mouth last time, did you?” he asked, an impressed smile on his face at that realization.

You shook your head, “no. It would mean giving you what you wanted, and I have more self-control than that.”

“Three edges, then. You can take my edging three times, can’t you?” he asked, both of you throwing your clothes off carelessly.

“Yes,” you breathed, his body blanketing over yours, his cock rutting against yours.

“Yes what, sweetheart? You know how to address me,” he reprimanded lightly, his mouth sucking at your neck softly.

“Yes sir,” you muttered, holding back on your brattiness. You just wanted to get off and get all that work-related crap out of your mind.

“Good boy,” he praised, his mouth nipping at your skin as he continued moving down your body. He kissed and sucked across your pelvis, avoiding your dick, and nipping at your thighs. You let one hand find his hair, your eyes glued to his head. You were fully hard now, need strung tight inside you. He spit into his hand, taking you in his palm and stroking, setting a decent pace. “Get close, y/n. I want you to get as close as possible. I want you to be begging to cum for me when I’m done,” he demanded, his eyes on yours as he watched you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your hips bowing as your pleasure began to build.

“ _Fuck,_ ” you bit out, knowing this was going to be fairly torturous after being sexually frustrated all week long.

“This is only going to get harder for you. Wait until I start abusing your prostate,” he murmured, a wolfish grin on his face as the reality of how far he was going to take this dawned on you. It was going to be a hell of an edging session.

“I am going to be able to cum at the end of all this, right?” you asked breathlessly.

He shrugged, “if you behave and apologize when we’re done, probably.” You just nodded, accepting that. It was better than him giving you nothing again. He squeezed the tip of your cock, making you shudder, pleasure pulsing through your dick and making you impossibly harder. A small moan escaped your throat, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stop anymore noise. You didn’t want to wake anyone and get the two of you kicked out. “Don’t hide your noises from me, y/n. There will be consequences if you try and hide them any further,” Hotchner warned, a hard look in his eyes. You writhed as your orgasm was slowly built, pleasure beginning to arc inside you before it abruptly ended, your orgasm cut off.

“God damn it,” you swore in complaint, your eyes closing and your muscles tightening. Hotchner ignored you, getting off the bed and walking over to his bag, bending over, and unzipping his bag. You stared unabashedly, watching what he was doing as you came back down off the edge of climax. He came back over, a bottle of lube and package of condoms in his hand. He set them both on the nightstand and walked over to the small fridge under the desk, pulling out a bottle of water and uncapping it, watching you as he took a long draft from the bottle.

“Y/n now is a good time to discuss aftercare. I need to know what you need after intense scenes,” he said firmly. You nodded, trying to think about it with your already sex-fried brain. You were intently focused on what he was going to do rather than what was going to happen after.

“I really don’t need as much as other people usually do. Maybe a shower and just some basic human affection. Reassurance. Water. After getting clean I usually take some time to read and then doze off,” you replied, “what do you need? I don’t want to send you into dom drop.”

“The same. Some affection, getting clean. Helping you get clean. Water, food, and sometimes some sleep,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“No. We should be alright. Tell me if you need me to do more, though. My job is to take care of you. If you think you’re dropping, tell me. I’ll do the same should I need to,” he said, walking back over to the bed, leaving his water on the desk. You swallowed, watching him stride over to you, each step speaking of his confidence and authority. He grabbed a pillow, throwing it next to you and picking up the lube. “Roll over so I can prep you,” he ordered. You did, placing the pillow under your stomach. He was careful when he worked you open, making sure he didn’t crook his fingers just right and hit your prostate.

“Turn back over.” You turned back over, a grin on your face as you looked down at him. He settled between your legs, his lubed hand snaking under you and two fingers slipping inside you while his other hand worked your dick. You arched up, cursing under your breath as he crooked his fingers until he found that one spot. “There it is,” he murmured, watching you unravel underneath him. Your grin quickly dissipated, replaced by your jaw clenching as pleasure spot in sparks through your entire body.

Your head pushed back against the mattress, eyes closing as you barely bucked up, “g-god, you are way too good at this.”

His grin grew wider, his efforts picking up as you started falling apart. “So easy to please, aren’t you? But it’s never hard to please greedy little sluts like you. Look how easy you fall apart. If only you were just as eager to please,” he purred, disdain painted all over his face. You didn’t say anything, knowing anything you said he would twist into more and more denial. Besides, anything you had to say wasn’t going to get you what you wanted. “Good boy… finally figured out how to shut your mouth,” he growled. His fingers crooked _just_ right, and you let out an obscene moan, fire coursing through your veins as more heat shot to your groin.

Once he figured out how to abuse that spot as best as he possibly could, he started moving his fingers and stroking you faster. You were begging to cum, your resolve slipping away as you sunk knee deep in submission. “Please,” you breathed, “please just let me cum.”

He chuckled. “No. You wanted to be a brat; you get to face the consequences. Only good boys get to cum and you have been the farthest thing from good,” he leered. His fingers slipped out of you, his hand letting go of you and leaving you to come back down. That was two. One more. One more and then you could have what you wanted. He picked up the water, uncapping it and handing it to you. “Drink.”

You shook your head, “I’m fine.”

“It wasn’t a request. Drink,” he repeated. You took the bottle from his hands and took a drink, making a show of swallowing so he would take the water back. He took it back, glaring at you, setting the water on the nightstand. “Stand up.” You furrowed your brow out of confusion but did what he asked, standing up and watching him throw the loose pillow back against the headboard and settling against it. He took a condom and the lube from the nightstand and set them next to him, his hand curling around his dick as he stroked himself. You just stared at the sight, eyes slightly wide. Hotchner picked up the foil packet, opened it and rolled it over himself, his plan for this edge becoming more and more obvious by the minute. “Sit on my lap, sweetheart,” he instructed, making your face flush.

You climbed on the bed, settling in between his legs. He lifted you, moving you backwards and positioning himself so he could slip inside you. “Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yes sir, it’s ok. Just… slow, please,” you requested quietly.

“Of course,” he said dryly, slowly letting you sink down on his cock. You both groaned, the sound heavy in the sexually tense air shared between you two. His mouth brushed your ear, “you’re going to warm my cock while I edge you this last time. You can be a good boy and take it for me, can’t you?”

You nodded, “yes sir.” This is where it got fun. Where this would become more stress relieving. This was all about feeling and letting go and you were happy to do just that.

“Good boy. Just feel,” he said softly, pouring more lube in his hand and taking your dick in it, slicking you up more and starting stroke you. You moaned, his thumb sliding over your slit and teasing you expertly. “This is what happens when you tease me, sweetheart. This is what happens you forget who owns your pleasure; you get punished,” he murmured, his teeth biting into the crook of your neck, making you hiss out of mixed pain and pleasure. He shifted his weight under you, his dick sinking deeper inside you. Your breath caught in your throat, sweat dripping down your forehead. The smell of sex and Hotchner’s cologne filled your nostrils, his possessiveness encapsulating you from every angle imaginable.

His hand was working you at that quick pace, his wrist twisting just right to collect the precum seeping from the head. Hotchner shifted yet again, and then again. Then he hit his goal, his cock brushing your prostate, eliciting a moan from you. You flushed, a pleasurable shudder moving through your body. “Do you want to cum?” he asked teasingly, sucking on your skin, and leaving as many marks below the collar as he could from the position you were in.

“Yes s-sir, please,” you moaned, shameless within your need.

“Are you going to be good for me and follow my orders from now on?” he asked, biting just behind your ear, making you keen and groan.

“Yes sir, please, I need to cum so fucking bad.”

He smirked against your neck, his voice a whisper, “no. You’re going to wait.” You whined. His other hand glided up your body, resting at your throat. “I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard, y/n. You’re not going to be able to fucking move when I’m done with you.” Another tremor moved through you. He was deadly serious. “I might overstimulate you. Color?”

“Green, sir,” you answered, not thinking much about it. He moved you to lay on your side in front of him, hooking your leg with his and changing the angle to be more pleasurable for the both of you. It gave him more opportunity to abuse that one fucking spot, too. He kept stroking you, his cock driving into you as he started moving, ending the major edging session, and guiding the both of you towards intense climax and orgasmic pleasure. You reach around, your nails digging into his bicep. “Please—god damn, haa—please just let me finish, sir. I can’t fucking, uh, I can’t fucking take it,” you pant, rolling your hips into his hand as best you could.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back, the smooth sound flooding your senses. “Why would I do that when you make such pretty sounds?” he asked, laughing. You just whimpered, absorbing every single deep thrust he made inside you.

“I can’t take it,” you repeated.

He bit down on your earlobe in reprimand, “you can, and you will. I know you can, sweetheart. You’ve been so good for me so far. Just a little bit longer and then you can cum.” Moans and mumbled words spilled from your throat, his drives pushing you closer to climax and the edge of fucking insanity.

“Can I cum? Please,” you begged shamelessly.

He started working you faster, his drives getting faster. “I want you to cum for me. Cum, sweetheart,” he demanded, determination exuding from the sheer force of his thrusts and words. You came hard, Hotchner not far behind you. Your head fell forward, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You felt like you were floating, your body completely worn out from the intensity of everything that had just happened. You felt Hotchner’s lips on the back of your neck, his hands coming around your waist after he pulled out of you. “You did so well, y/n. You took me so well and you were so good for me,” Hotchner praised, his voice softening and becoming more comforting. You sunk into it, you’re mind finding its stability as he kept quietly reassuring you and simply let you lay there with him at your back.

“Let me clean you up,” he said, moving back and standing up, rounding the bed to your side where you still hadn’t moved. “Can you stand?”

You shrugged, “no clue. Don’t want to, either.” Before you could place the words to protest, he had lifted you, moving you into the attached bathroom that was surprisingly spacious. “God, I know you make more than me, but this is absurd. Maybe I should put in for a raise,” you joked, earning you a lazy laugh from Hotchner.

“You don’t want to be a unit chief, y/n. Trust me,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes at the very thought of his job. He turned on the water in the shower and exited, collecting clothes from your bag as well as his own. Your mind snagged on your job and the stability you had just achieved began to wobble, the pictures of all those kids filling your mind.

“God damn it,” you whispered, letting your head fall into your hands.

“Y/n? What’s wrong? Is it a drop?” Hotchner asked quickly.

You shook your head. “Not really. It’s just our job. I shouldn’t have brought it up at all. I can’t get all that shit from the last case out of my head,” you explained, looking up at him with a look that asked him to drop it. He ignored it.

“Do you want to talk about it? While we don’t get along, per se, I do understand what it’s like to experience all this,” Hotchner offered, dropping the clothes in two separate piles on the bathroom counter and moving to a small shelf to pull out two large white towels.

“Not particularly, no,” you said quietly, looking at the ground and falling silent. Guilt consumed you because of all the things you could have done. Things you could have found out quicker or records you could have unsealed faster.

“Y/n…”

“Hotchner, please. Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” That surprised you.

You looked at him, furrowing in your brow in confusion. “What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry this is so difficult for you,” he elaborated, urging you into the now hot shower. You wanted to ask him what he meant. You wanted to ask him if it was as hard for him as it was for you. There were so many questions you wanted to ask, but you didn’t. You just stayed silent, letting his presence sweep you away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are so so nice. Please leave them! I like feedback on what was liked and what needs to be changed! Love you all and thanks for reading! :)
> 
> And I promise we get to Spencer really soon, i just really need to setup Hotch's traits and the nature of the relationship. Spencer is going to be so sweet though, ahhhhhhh


	9. Deals and First Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> deals with Hotchner, date with Spencer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S A CHAPTER AFTER BEING DEAD FOR SO LONG. PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. I'M SORRY. LOVE YOU ALL. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT. OK. HERE YOU GO. BYE <3

_**“I’m not sure if I should show you what I’ve found,** _  
_**Has it gone for good?** _  
_**Or is it coming back around?** _  
_**Isn’t it hard to make up your mind?** _  
_**When you’re losing and your fuse is fireside.”** _  
_**-Fireside – Arctic Monkeys** _

* * *

The shower was nice after getting the living daylights fucked out of you. Hotchner had joined you, taking the time to wash you and tending to you before himself. The water felt nice on your sticky skin, sweat and arousal washing off you as you stood beneath the spray of the shower. Hotchner was using the complimentary products that came with the room, yours left in the bottom of your bag in a smaller toiletry bag that you carried into hotels religiously.

“Just for future knowledge, I bring my own toiletries. They are way nicer than these,” you commented quietly.

“Do you prefer showering alone?” Hotchner asked softly, his hands working the soap into your back.

You shook your head, “I don’t care either way. If I need to shower alone, I’ll tell you.”

He just nodded that time, humming as he washed you. Once he finished, you went to reciprocate but he stopped you instead, a small smile on his face. “This was for you. No need to clean me up,” he murmured, waving you off as he started lathering his hair with the honey-vanilla shampoo. You didn’t bother arguing, stepping out of the shower and letting him have his space. You threw on the clothes he had grabbed: a pair of boxers, some sweats, and a plain gray t-shirt. You threw yourself down on the bed, closing your eyes and trying to get some sleep. It was hard, though, your mind buzzing from the thoughts of your job. It was difficult. Sometimes you wondered if the work was even worth it.

The sound of the water suddenly stopping drew your attention away from your thoughts for a split second. You were quickly swept away by your exhaustion however, tiredness taking you away from any solid thoughts, leaving you with lingering guilt. Hotchner exited the bathroom while you were still lost in thought. “Still thinking,” he said, his tone making it more of a statement rather than a question.

“Yep,” you replied shortly, rolling your head to look at him. He was still putting his shirt on, scars that littered his stomach and abdomen shining in the light for a moment before being hidden away by his white t-shirt. You didn’t ask about them, you just quietly stored the image in the back of your mind in a little box of things you were probably never going to discuss. Talking about them would be uncomfortable for the both of you, and it would mean… more. You don’t get scars like that on accident and talking about where they came from would mean leaping into something more. This was a relationship that was just about sex. No need to get personal about it besides sex and kink interests.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, opening the small fridge by the desk, and pulling out another bottle of water and uncapping it, guzzling the contents, his eyes never leaving yours. You studied him for a few moments, silent. You watched his eyes, looking for any sign of disinterest or any flicker of frustration. He didn’t strike you as the type that would fake interests or responses, but you didn’t know him that well. Everyone had a dark side. You knew that from years of experience with all kinds of people.

You sighed, shrugging. “Not much. You don’t want to hear it. It’s stupid,” you throw out, trying to divert the subject to something different. You wished you could sleep. Sleep was needed but you also knew that your sleep would be plagued with stomach-twisting images and ideas.

“Y/n, I understand. I really do. It does you no good to keep it in. Just tell me. If I didn’t want to hear it, I wouldn’t have asked,” he persisted, sauntering over to the bed.

You moved over, giving him space to settle on the mattress. “I just keep thinking that maybe more kids would get out of that… if I could just find things faster or… dig a little deeper. I don’t know. This job is just hard. And once you see things… you can’t make them go away,” you explained, looking away from him, your head hitting the pillow as you stared up at the ceiling. “And I try and use sex to make it go away and it never will. Sometimes I just don’t think the FBI is where I should be.”

Hotchner stayed quiet for a moment, as though he was thinking about what he could say to fix that. There was nothing that could get the images and sounds of screaming and crying children out of your mind. No amount of sex or alcohol or reconciling of feelings could ever do that. He was smart enough to know that, too. At least you hoped.

“I understand that. Those dark thoughts… feelings and images… they never go away. You just have to find a way to make sure the job is still worth it. If you can’t find that, the job isn’t where you should be and you should apply yourself elsewhere,” Hotchner advised, glancing down at you. He dropped one of his hands down to card through your hair, his fingers playing with the damp strands. You gave him a small smile, thinking about what he said.

“I hate to admit it, but that was actually pretty smart,” you admitted, sounding resigned as you glanced up at him.

He shrugged, sighing, “well, sometimes I can be. Sometimes I can be dickish, as you say. I hope you know I’m not always like that. The only way I can get the job done is if I act like I have no emotions left to give.”

You smirked at that, chuckling lightly. “Everyone has to do something to keep themselves going. With a team like yours, it makes sense. You have to keep everyone focused and with the mix of personalities you’ve got… the dominant persona makes sense. I understand it,” you amended.

He nodded, “good. Are you tired?”

You just nodded. “I don’t know how much sleep I’m really going to get. My mind won’t turn off,” you complained, throwing a forearm over your eyes. Hotchner just continued running his fingers through your hair, his fingers gliding through it at a consistent pace each time and taking note of the effect.

“Let me turn the lights off,” he whispered, temporarily leaving the bed, and clicking on the lamp. He crossed the room, hitting the light switch and plunging the room into almost-darkness and coming back to lay at your side. He rested against the headboard, resuming what he was originally doing. You let out a contented breath, deciding you could get used to Hotchner running his fingers through your hair like that.

***

You slowly blinked your eyes open, the light of day filtering through the curtains and illuminating the room. You flipped over, looking at the alarm clock provided by the hotel and reading the time. _8:42am._ You looked past the nightstand, hearing hushed talking from the outside of the cracked door. Hotchner must be on the phone with someone. It sounded somewhat harsh and cold, so you left it alone, deciding not to get yourself dragged into that mess. Angry Hotchner usually meant mind blowing sex, but as of right now you were worn out and not in the mood for getting fucked until you couldn’t even move.

You sat up, stretching, and then leaning against the headboard, taking some time to get your head together before anything else happened. You had only had sex with this man, _what_ , five times? And you were already more well fucked than you had ever been in your entire life. Despite Hotchner’s arrogance, he was an incredibly good lay. You weren’t willing to tell him, of course. Didn’t want to throw more kerosine on his ego-induced fire, but he was one of the best sexual partners you had ever had.

You couldn’t help but notice the exasperated sigh coming from just outside, Hotchner’s conversation getting more and more frustrating as he continued talking to whoever was on the other side of the line. “No, Haley. I can’t just take him at any time. I’m not home right now. You decided when we divorced to try and keep him away from me, and while I hate it because I love my son, I’ve accepted it. You can’t decide when you want me to be a part of his life when, just because it’s more convenient for you,” Hotchner murmured, although there was some semblance of sympathy in his voice.

There was a pause as he listened to ‘Haley’ or whatever her name was. Then he kept speaking, his tone icy cold, the words coming out in a growl that was just barely audible to your ears, “no. I refuse to be painted as an unempathetic ass because you want to be selfish. You didn’t want me to raise our son. You walked out on _me_. You cheated on _me_. I understand that I wasn’t the best husband and that I wasn’t the best father, but you do _not_ get to act like a spoiled child because of the fall out of _your_ actions.” Your brows raised in surprise, but you weren’t going to argue with his reasoning, full story or not. You didn’t know this Haley woman, but you already didn’t like her.

Another pause.

“I’m done with this conversation, Haley. You don’t want to take this seriously when it matters. I’m done wasting my time with this. If you want to handle this like an adult, then call me later. If not, don’t bother calling me,” Hotchner said finally. The door opened and he stepped inside, a hand running through his already tousled hair. He looked thoroughly frazzled, but you didn’t know if he always looked like that when he woke up or if it was just a natural side-effect of talking with his cheater of an ex-wife. You dropped your hands behind you head, cradling your head and giving him a lazy smirk. He looked up at you, his voice betraying his surprise to see you up, “you’re up.”

You nodded, chuckling lightly. “I sure am, captain obvious. Glad you noticed,” you snickered, making him shoot you a stern look.

“Are you hungry? We could get breakfast before we jump headfirst into negotiation,” he said, sounding tired.

You ignored the question, your eyes narrowing with your confusion and curiosity. “Are you alright? You seem exhausted,” you pointed out.

He sighed. “I’m tired. Sleeping is always difficult for me, especially when have so much work to do all the time. I’ll be alright. I just need a cup of coffee. A _good_ cup of coffee,” Hotchner commented snidely.

“Then go get a good cup of coffee,” you said, being incredibly unhelpful. He just scowled at you, making you stifle a shit-eating grin.

“Already pushing my buttons at 9 in the morning,” he grumbled.

You ignored the comment. “We could go get breakfast at that diner down the block or we could order room service. I trust the dinner more than the quality of room service, but whatever you want to do is fine,” you offered, deciding to temporarily keep the peace. He needed the stability from the conversation that seemed to drain what little life-like qualities he had left.

“Diner. I’ve stayed at too many hotels to eat room service when I’m not absolutely starving,” he replied dryly.

You just nodded, throwing the sheets off yourself and standing, stretching more. You could feel Hotchner’s eyes drilling into you, making you smirk. “Take a picture. It will last longer,” you smarted. You heard his amused exhale, and when you turned, you could see that smoldering look in his eyes.

“I might start doing just that, y/n. Don’t tempt me,” he shot back, eyes raking up and down you. You just scoffed, walking over to where your bag was on the floor, digging through it for some jeans and a clean shirt. He did the same, pulling jeans and a polo out of his bag as well as an olive pull over. You both got dressed in silence, on of you taking the bathroom while the other changed and then flipping.

You were pulling on shoes when your phone rang. You glanced at the caller ID, the name ‘Doctor Spencer Reid’ written in white letters on the screen. You stood, accepting the call and balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you finished pulling your shoes on, greeting him with a, ‘y/n y/l/n.”

“Hey y/n,” Spencer greeted, his voice wavering even with his excitement. He was trying to keep himself from going on a tangent.

“Hey genius. What’s up?” you asked, looking over at Hotchner who was coming out of the bathroom, stilling when he saw you were on the phone, a puzzled look coming across his features. You stood, walking out into the hall to talk to him like Hotchner had a few minutes earlier.

“I was—um—wondering if you wanted to get coffee with me or something tomorrow? You obviously don’t have to. You are probably busy. I’ll hang up and let you go back to—”

“I would love to, Spencer. Tell me when and where and I will be there,” you answered, smiling to yourself. You heard a sigh of relief leave his lungs. “You were really stressing out over this call, huh?” you teased.

You could feel his scowl from the teasing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer replied in a huff.

“Uh huh. Just text me where you want to meet and what time and I’ll meet you there. I look forward to it, Spence,” you say, redirecting the conversation. As much as you would love to stay on the phone and tease Spencer, you had to get some food and then discuss a bunch of things with Hotchner. You had no idea how you were going to balance these two relationships or how you were going to explain them to each other, but you were willing to figure it out. Worst comes to worst, you put one in front of the other.

“Great. Great. Oh and y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for saying yes to, um, going on a date with me.”

“Thank you for wanting to go.”

“Well. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye, Spence.”

You hung up, sliding you phone in your pocket and grinning to yourself as you stepped back inside the hotel room. Hotchner was pacing, his arms across his chest, a weird look on his face. You stilled, shooting him a confused look. “What?” you asked.

He looked at you, moving back and leaning against the desk. “Who was that?” he asked.

“A friend of mine. Why?”

“Nothing. Come on. I need a black coffee more than I need anything else right now,” Hotchner complained, pocketing his wallet, phone, and keys. You shrugged, doing the same with all of your personal effects and walking out the door when prompted. What had gotten into him? Jesus.

The diner was only a short walk away. It had literally been right down the block. The hostess sat you both at one of the booths lining the windows, allowing you to look at passing pedestrians. You sat on opposite sides, silent as the hostess rattle on about things and set menus and silverware down. You gave her a tight smile as she walked away, pulling your menu towards you. You were both incredibly quiet, not bothering to start conversations. This is how you wanted to keep it. Just personable enough to survive interacting outside of sex, and passionate enough to have rough sex that was still mind blowing.

“Hi! I’m Jenna and I’ll be your server this morning. Can I get you two gentle men anything to drink? Coffee? Water? Orange juice?” the young woman asked, pulling out a pen and clicking the end, the tip hovering near the ticket book she held in her left hand.

“I’ll have a black coffee and a water,” Hotchner said, not looking up from his menu. Jenna nodded, writing it down and then turning to you.

“OJ and a coffee,” you responded, looking at her as you responded, giving her the same fake smile.

She nodded, “cream and sugar?”

“Please.”

“I’ll be right back with those. Excuse me,” Jenna murmured, excusing herself to go get you both your drinks. You just nodded mutely, looking back over the menu at all the options. It was greasy dinner style breakfast, of course. The only true way to eat it.

“Are you feeling better this morning?” Hotchner asked, not looking up at you as he thumbed through the menu. You shot him a confused look, but he never looked at you as he elaborated. “You were feeling overly guilty last night. I just wondered if you were feeling more… stabilized this morning,” he explained lowly. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as Jenna came back with two cups of coffee, setting them down by each of you and a small bowl of creamers and sugars. She walked away to get the other two drinks, giving you time to answer.

“Yes, I am. Thank you,” you said dryly, not offering more in terms of conversation. You looked away from your menu, looking around at the other dinner patrons. Not for any major reason. It was just something to do that didn’t involve talking.

“You really don’t want to get too close, huh?” Hotchner asked, his lips barely curving with amusement.

“What do you mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“You aren’t even trying to make conversation because you don’t want to grow more attached to me or give me the chance to get attached to you,” he elaborated, setting his menu down and picking up his coffee, looking at you for the first time since you had sat down.

You looked at him then, studying him for a moment. He just peered back, sipping his coffee, and waiting for some kind of response. “Damned profilers,” you muttered, exasperated. His lips curved more, that sultry look re-appearing for a moment before being pushed aside. He winked. Hotchner winked. “Stop profiling me, dickhead. It’s annoying,” you complained coldly, ignoring the gesture all together.

He set his mug down, licking his bottom lip and smirking. “No thanks. You spend all of your time annoying me, I think I will spend some time annoying you. Payback, if you will,” he fired back playfully.

“You are such a prick, you know that?” you spit, although it wasn’t backed up with it’s normal fervor or venom. It was clearly empty, no matter how true the words would ring later. He just chuckled as the waitress set the water and OJ on the table.

“You two ready to order?” she asked, looking at you expectantly. Hotchner eyed you and you nodded, motioning for him to order first.

***  
Breakfast had been decent, but the meal had been quiet. Neither of you talked much unless it was needed or forced. For the most part, the silence was comfortable. For some it could be awkward, especially around such an egotistical alpha male like Hotchner. Not for you, though. You were never going to let yourself be intimidated by him. He could shove it, for all you cared.

You flopped onto the bed, closing your eyes as Hotchner followed you into the room and closed the door. You sighed into the white comforter, the material crowding your face. Hotchner chuckled, landing a smack to your ass, and walking over to the desk where his copy of the agreement was. You turned your head, glaring at him. “Are you ready to negotiate?” Hotchner asked, a twinge of amusement lacing his otherwise monotone voice.

“Sure thing, dipshit,” you muttered, pushing back off the bed and standing. You went over to your bag, digging through it and finding the manila folder and taking it out, dropping it next to Hotchner’s on the desk. He raised a brow and you just stared back, waiting for him to get on with it. “Well?” you finally asked, trying to prompt something from him. He sighed, turning and opening both folders and taking out the paperwork to compare things.

“You agreed with the rules, yes?” he asked, eyeing you intently.

“Yes. Everything except the rule we discussed. I made a note on the agreement to remind you of the change,” you commented, nodding.

“Titles… titles look fine. Sir seems to be the only one we will be using. Fine with m—did you write ‘insufferable bastard’ under other?” Hotchner asked, looking back to you with a stern look on his face.

You had to bite back a wave of laughter at that. He was too stern for his own good in this type of setting. “One can always hope they would be given permission to get away with calling you what you are. Alas, that day will not be today,” you said, sounding somber. He just ignored that, going back to what he was doing in the first place.

Hotchner was going drive you up a sexual wall, and you were totally willing to let him.

***

Hotchner had driven you back to your apartment complex that night, after the two of you had both fucked each other two more times, that is. You felt well fucked but tired, both of you easily going your separate ways well satisfied. The negotiation had gone as well as you had hoped, both of you having a clear understanding each other. You had told Hotchner that it might take a few more nights of more vanilla style sex before you let him do anything more to you. You needed a better foundation of trust, and while Hotchner had made sure so far to have honorable intentions, you were still a tad bit unsure.

Luna rubbed against you, making you chuckle and pick her up in one of your arms and carry her back to your bedroom. You dropped her on the bed, dropping your bag next to the bed before flopping on top of your mattress. You spent a solid half hour just petting your cat, smiling and laughing as she flopped on top of you and rubbed up against you. Your phone dinged, telling you there was a new text awaiting your attention. You pulled out your phone, yawning and reading the message on the screen.

 _ **Doctor Spencer Reid:**_ _There’s a coffee shop on 4th and Main. Jacobs. Does 10am work for you?_  
_**Y/N Y/L/N:** Yeah. That’s perfect. I’ll see you there, genius. Look forward to it_  
_**Doctor Spencer Reid:** Really? Most people dread spending more time than they have to with me._  
_**Y/N Y/L/N:** Of course, I’m being for real. I wouldn’t have said yes otherwise._  
_**Doctor Spencer Reid:** Oh… well great. I’ll see you then. Good night y/n._  
_**Y/N Y/L/N:** Lol good night Spence._

***

Your alarm for 9am made you groan as you opened your eyes and started moving. Having intense sex with someone who was practically a machine was already taking a toll on your body. You stretched out, things popping and cracking as you moved. “God, since when did I feel this fucking old,” you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes at the thought.

You got out of bed, padding over to your closet, and opening it, looking through it for something casual to wear to a coffee shop but nice enough to wear on a date. Because that’s what this was. Right? Spencer had said so, meaning you both were on the same page. It would be hard not to be. You had drunkenly kissed him in the middle of a bar with his team watching. This was definitely a date.

You weren’t surprised when you saw Spencer sitting at a table, reading some newspaper with a coffee in his hand already. His foot was tapping under the table and you smiled, knowing he was probably mentally counting the minutes until this small interaction happened. You opened the door to the café and coffee house, walking inside and relishing in the very contemporary and laid-back atmosphere. Spencer still hadn’t looked up from the paper, so you took it as an opportunity to both get coffee and to surprise him with your arrival.

You ordered a cappuccino and waited patiently; occasionally eyeing Spencer who was still lost in his paper it seemed. You took your coffee and thanked the barista and headed over to his table, sliding carefully into the chair across from him and smiling. “Well hi there, ace,” you greeted calmly. Spencer jumped about a mile high, looking at you with a bewildered expression before his face twisted into a delighted smile.

“Ace?” he asked, shoving the newspaper in his messenger bag haphazardly and turning all of his attention towards you.

You nodded, “mm hm. Ace. Derek said you’re a hell of a poker player and considering how fast you beat me in pool, your new nickname is ace, because you ace everything.” His face lit up like Christmas tree, joy glittering in his hazel eyes, which were brighter as the sun beamed through the windows and onto the table and its surroundings.

He looked down at your coffee cup, grinning. “I also aced your coffee order,” Spencer bragged playfully, making you smile.

“Yeah. How did you do that?” you asked, leaning back in your chair and relaxing into the conversation. It was easy to get lost in conversation with Spencer. He was charming and very attentive. He genuinely cared.

“Cappuccinos were actually first called ‘Kapuziner’ and originated in Viennese coffee houses in the 1700s. The drink was a similar color to the robes worn by Kapuzin friars, thus the name. The Italians were the first to make the modern depiction of a cappuccino, though, and it got its name from the robes of the Capuchin monks in Italy,” Spencer drummed on excitedly. You melted a little inside, beaming at him with a sense of pride and an odd feeling of possessiveness.

“That’s really great. Where do you learn all this stuff?” you asked, leaning in curiously as he took a sip of whatever he was drinking. You had already learned that he basically had a coffee addiction, but who wouldn’t given the job he had. It was better than alcoholism.

He blushed a little, looking down at his disposable coffee cup. “I just like to read a lot. It keeps me entertained. Books have always been a way for me to deal with everything. My mom used to read to me, at least when she was…” he trailed off, his eyes suddenly becoming more distant as a dark shadow fell over his face.

“You don’t have to tell me, Spence. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you assured, articulating that you weren’t going to push him to do something he didn’t want to do. “But books, huh?”

He nodded, quickly snapping out of whatever trance he was in and smiling shyly. You could get used to that look. “Yeah. I prefer books. Paper. They never get old, they simply become more timeless. That’s what I love about them,” Spencer said.

You shrugged. “Never been big on books. I’m more a computer nerd,” you commented, making him scowl.

“Computers are ridiculous,” he griped.

You got defensive, sitting up with a newfound line of conversation. “No, they most certainly are not, Spencer Reid,” you fired back.

“They are terrible. Books are the best way to go when finding information. So many sources can be false online and cyber crimes are running rampant!” Spencer argued, but before he could rush into the statistical details, his phone rang. Both of you deflated, put off by the telltale sign of a new case.

“And today’s lucky case winner is Doctor Spencer Reid,” you mumbled, clearly discontented.

He rolled his eyes, taking out his phone and answering with a ‘Doctor Spencer Reid’. He was quiet, listening to who was on the line. “How long?” he asked, looking at his watch. “Mm hm. Yeah. I’ll be there in 10 minutes, JJ. Bye,” Spencer said shortly, shoving his phone in his pocket and standing. You stood with him.

“New case?”

He nodded, “unfortunately. Abduction. Time sensitive.”

“State?” you asked, knowing that had a lot to do with it.

He grimaced, “Florida.” You winced, knowing what that meant. It meant a wild ride. A very unfun wild ride, that is. He slung his bag over his shoulder, adjusting it as he picked up his coffee to rush out of the coffee shop. “Sorry for cutting this so short, y/n,” Spencer began, trying to think of a way to recover.

You cut him off, smiling. “No need. I get it. I also work for the bureau, actually, so I understand. But you can make this up by letting me take you out to dinner when your case wraps up,” you said coolly, playing it off and being smart about it.

Spencer smiled. “Absolutely. I’ll call you, then?” he asked, not hiding the hope in his voice. You nodded once. “Alright. Awesome. Um, well I’ve got to—”

“Go, genius. Do something genius like and save some lives,” you said, waving it off as he practically ran out the door. You smiled, laughing to yourself, “that man is something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also note that I have def dropped attempting to update on a schedule lol. I hope i get the next one up quicker but who the fuck knows.

**Author's Note:**

> HERE WE GO


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